


Call of the Sea

by Capella (Caprina)



Series: Sea Longing Series [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 43,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caprina/pseuds/Capella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A re-telling of the Lord of the Rings story from an elf's perspective.</p>
<p>Written in the early 2000's under the name Capella and lightly edited for re-posting here; my first slash story and sadly un-beta'd.  It's a mish-mash of film and book canon that attempts to resolve some of the clashes between the two, along with the obvious on-screen heat between Legolas and Aragorn.  </p>
<p>Warning:  the story includes a scene which appears to be rape/non-con, although the truth is more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Love at first sight is a most popular concept with both elves and men. It features in many a song and story of both races. This, however, is a tale in which heroism and romance play no more part than weakness and imperfection; and therefore I must admit the truth. Thoughts of love did not enter my mind when I first looked on Aragorn. In fact I was conscious of mild surprise and indeed disapproval at the sight and - let me be quite honest – the smell of him. Maybe he was raised by elves, but this all too clearly was a man, and one who had spent many nights in the wild places without much thought given to his personal needs.

In my six centuries I had met many men, fleeting encounters with hunters in the woods or traders of Dale and Lake Town. I had found them to be a rough, loud people, given to sudden outbursts of mirth or rage, and inclined to be surly or tongue-tied in the presence of my kind. Beauty there must have been beneath the dirt and rough clothing; I had never had cause to seek it out or wonder at its nature. 

I knew of Aragorn, of course, long before I set eyes on him. News travels fast amongst elves and although my father had little love for Elrond, still we were bound to the affairs of our kin throughout Middle Earth. Messengers moved between Mirkwood and Rivendell at regular intervals, bringing news of the boy Estel, and later of the man Aragorn and his many adventures in the wild lands. His true identity was known at our court, though little spoken of; but not common knowledge amongst the rest of the elves. Aragorn himself had passed through Mirkwood a number of times and had even been received by my father. I had been away patrolling our borders on these occasions, so had yet to meet him. 

When one of the scouts of our party ran to tell me of our chance meeting with this most intriguing and exceptional of men, I was delighted at the prospect of seeing the phenomenon for myself. I dropped out of the tree where I had been resting and ran back to the edge of the clearing where we had made camp.

In my curiosity, I do not doubt that my eyes lingered on him. I saw that his garments, though worn and marked, were clearly of elven make, as were the bow and quiver slung across his back and the sword at his belt. After the initial assault on my nostrils subsided – a variety of smoky, woody smells with strong undertones of sweat and leather – I looked up to his face, realising as I did so that his height and upright posture set him firmly apart from the other men of my brief acquaintance. 

As I belatedly stepped into the circle, Aragorn turned from the other members of my hunting party towards me. Rare indeed is the mortal who can hear an elf’s step on the forest floor. His unkempt hair and straggling beard did not please me, but the direct frankness of his gaze came as a shock. I had seen many expressions in the faces of men as they looked upon me: envy, furtive desire, discomfort, wonderment, to name a few. Never until that moment had a man met my eye in cool, dispassionate interest, as an equal.

We greeted each other in appropriate formal style, in the elven tongue of my people, and I found that he spoke with a softness of timbre and accent which gladdened me. I invited him to share the comforts of our camp for the evening, pleased with this unexpected opportunity to trade tales and learn more of him. For his part he seemed happy to accept my invitation.

The evening was a merry one, fuelled by the best of our wine and a sumptuous feast of forest fruits and meats. The whole party sat entranced as Aragorn told his tales for us. His adventures were recounted with humour and passion; he had the skill of painting a most vivid scene with a few wisely chosen words. At length I recalled my position and chided the other elves for badgering him for more. Instead we sang and told stories of our own, while Aragorn relaxed in the fire’s glow. Eventually, noticing him yawning, I called the party to a halt. 

“Let us set watch now and allow our guest some rest.”

He smiled lazily at me. “Would that I had the stamina of your kind for such merriment. I am afraid many nights have passed since I have been able to sleep deeply and secure – such is the burden of the lone traveller.”

I stood and made a small bow. “The least we can offer you in exchange for your wonderful stories is a night of peace. My people will scout the area, and I myself will watch over this clearing, as I have no need of sleep tonight; I shall be too well occupied thinking over all that you have told me. I wish you a night of beautiful dreams.”

Aragorn rose and returned my bow. “Your company and the excellence of your provisions have more than repaid me for any small entertainment I have offered. However, I am grateful for the chance to sleep long and well. You may find me more personable in the morning.”

With that we said goodnight and he took his pack to the side of the clearing where the roots of a great beech made a natural sleeping alcove.

True to my word, I climbed into an ancient oak on the opposite side and settled myself there. Long hours I spent gazing at the stars, re-living parts of our conversation and listening to a growing note of excitement in my heart. It was not the person of Aragorn that stirred me, but rather the tales he had woven throughout the long firelit evening. The older elves of my acquaintance had seen much and travelled widely, but their adventures had become the stuff of myth and song. Aragorn’s stories had the immediacy of recent events and made me long to share in his journeys. I found myself wishing that my blood was not royal, that I had no responsibilities, and that I could take off into the forest by his side in the morning. Gladly would I face danger, darkness and toil in order to see and do the things he had seen and done.

At length the colours of dawn touched the sky and my companions started to return to the camp. Knowing Aragorn to be safe in their presence I slipped off to the small river nearby to bathe. The water was cold but sweet on my skin, and I lingered, unbraiding my hair to wash it in the deepest pool. By the time I pulled on my shirt, the late summer sun was making its warmth felt. I left the remainder of my clothing on the bank and climbed onto a large rock to stand in full sun. Tipping my head back, I gazed at the sky while running the fingers of both hands through my hair to dry it, and let the yearnings of the night leave me as the sun warmed my back and I felt the pulse of the ancient forest around me. The air was already growing heavy and rich with the scent of flowers and foliage; the sounds of water and insects set up an answering hum in my skin. My spirit soared in the beauty of the day, and I began to sing.

Even in my ecstasy I was aware of him before his foot snapped a twig at the forest’s edge. Gentle of him, to warn me of his presence – a ranger such as he would normally move with more stealth. I finished the verse, shook my hair, and turned to him as he stood, as if transfixed, beneath a tree.

“I do not wish to disturb you,” he said.

“You are welcome. The sun is warm and the water refreshing, delightful –”

“But your singing –”

“By the Valar’s grace I may sing out my joy on a thousand such mornings. Your company I may only enjoy today. Please, bathe, and I shall leave you to have some privacy.”

“I would rather hear you sing again, and let the sound refresh my soul as the water my flesh. Would you mind?”

His smile was broad, but genuine. It touched me.

“I am an elf. I do not need to be asked twice!”

So I pulled on my leggings, sat on the rock and combed, then braided, my hair as I sang. Although I had turned, to spare him my gaze as he undressed, I found it impossible not to glance at him through sheer curiosity – I had never had occasion to look at a naked man before. 

His body was broader and darker than that of any elf, with bulkier muscles clearly defined beneath the skin. He had patches of quite thick hair in places where my people are, without exception, smooth; and a number of clearly visible scars were apparent on the tanned flesh. Despite his roughness and imperfections the sight of him pleased me greatly; only propriety stopped me from turning again and openly staring.

There is beauty in the race of men, indeed.

I turned my head fully away and began another song, one less familiar to me, which required some concentration.

When he had finished bathing he climbed onto the rock and sat beside me, dressed in his leggings and a loose shirt. I was pleased to note that he had thoroughly washed his hair, although the mere application of water could do little for his beard. I drew my song to a conclusion and smiled at him. 

“Good morning, Estel. Did you sleep well?”

“Prince Legolas. Yes, indeed, under your watchful gaze.” He used the honorific title playfully but respectfully, smiling still.

“Do you plan to return to your father’s palace today, or to continue your hunt?” he enquired after a short pause.

“We have finished our work here, and yet it is such a pleasing spot, and the day so glorious, I am in no hurry to return to the business of Court. I have in mind a day of leisure for myself and my friends, to appreciate that which Yavanna has wrought for us.”

“May I then make a suggestion, and a request?”

“I am at your command.”

“I have some business of my own to discuss with the King and had intended to make my way to him this morning. However I too would enjoy a break from my labours on such a day as this. May I impose upon your hospitality once more? We could then return to the palace together tomorrow.”

I could feel the smile widening across my face. “This is no imposition! You know that I would welcome your company most gladly.”

He shifted his position slightly. “Perhaps we could shoot together for sport? Your prowess as an archer is famous from Ered Mithrin to Gondor, and I would see it for myself. Maybe I could learn something.” Now I was grinning most undecorously.

He added, “Could it even be that the rumours of your skill, like those of the beauty of your person and voice, are understatements?”

I was no longer smiling as I snapped at him, “Do not flatter me, master Estel!”

As soon as I had said it, I cursed myself silently for my lack of self control. He merely opened his grey eyes wider as they stared into mine, and placed a hand on my arm.

“I am sorry, good prince; you are weary of the shallow compliments of men seeking favours - of many kinds - from you, or your father’s house.” Was this man capable of reading my mind through my eyes? “I have no such favour to ask of you, save the pleasure of your company and conversation. But I was raised in Rivendell and some habits do not leave me. In these dark days it is ever more necessary to recognise and praise beauty where I find it. I did not wish to offend you.” 

The curses doubled in intensity as I felt myself blushing with shame. I sighed. “It is I who should apologise. My kin are famed for our taciturnity, yet after six hundred years I have not learned to think before I speak. No wonder my father despairs of me.” I attempted a rueful grin, which he returned at full strength.

As we stood, I added, “And please, you do not need to call me Prince. I would rather be just Legolas to you.”

“And I Aragorn to you, at least when we are alone,” he quickly rejoined. 

In comfortable silence, we headed back to the glade where breakfast was prepared.

Later that day we did indeed take our bows and shoot together. He had much skill, but was not displeased when I matched each of his shots with a better one of my own. He merely laughed delightedly and asked me many questions about the finer points of my technique. All pretence of formality had now been dropped and we spoke easily as if we were long time companions. 

After a time, Aragorn suggested that we move on from the bow to the sword .

“Then perhaps I may even the score somewhat.”

When forced into close combat I generally preferred to use my short hunting knives, but none the less I felt enough confidence in my swordsmanship to agree, in spite of Aragorn’s fearsome reputation with the blade. 

That the bout would end with his point to my throat was inevitable, but I am happy to say I made him work hard for his victory. We stood immobile for a while, as I listened to my rapid heart and his heavy breathing. Then some devilment overcame me, and I reverted to the tricks of a youngster being schooled in the art of sword play by an over-indulgent tutor. 

I leapt up and to the side with a half twist, then bent down and stepped back into him. With one elbow I winded him, with the other arm I knocked the sword from his hand. It is a tricky manoeuvre, which relies on elven speed for the element of surprise, and should only be attempted in play. On this occasion my body remembered the move perfectly and Aragorn was caught quite unawares. He grunted as my elbow hit home and the sword spun off to the side, then gave a shout of laughter. As I had hoped he would, he stepped forward as he tried to grab me from behind; I shifted my weight under him and pitched him, under his own momentum, straight to the ground.

He was not about to give in easily, and I soon found my legs pulled out from under me. We wrestled and threw each other like children until mirth overcame us completely and we lay side by side on the forest floor, laughing to the point of tears. 

As the hilarity subsided, awareness of the situation returned to me. The heir to Gondor’s throne and the Prince of Mirkwood, strangers only a day ago, grappling in the dirt like infant brothers. What would our fathers think? A sudden vision of the faces of King Thranduil and Lord Elrond, gazing in speechless horror at their wayward children, overwhelmed me, and I snorted with laughter again. Aragorn rolled to his side and leaned on his elbow, looking into my eyes as he spoke my thoughts for the second time that day: 

“If I was told of this scene I would not believe it, oh prince.”

“Nor I, my lord”.

“Truly, Legolas, you are balm to my soul. I do not remember a time when I felt so at ease outside Rivendell.”

“And I had never thought to find such friendship with a man. Lucky are the sons of Elrond, that they may call you brother.”

That night our camp was a quiet affair. Sensing that we wished to talk between ourselves, the other elves withdrew a little into the woods to keep watch after the meal, leaving me to linger with Aragorn by the fire. We spoke of many things; of families and childhood memories, of news of the wider world, of hopes and dreams, and of duty and honour. There was little laughter, but much deep truth in our conversation. I realised that Aragorn, like myself, took his responsibilities to heart, but often found them to be a heavy burden. His strong, almost palpable, sense of his own destiny both moved and impressed me. Did I, even then, hear a faint whisper of my own fate linked to his? Certainly from that day on there was little doubt in my mind that great things awaited him in the fight against the evil one. I stared into the embers long after Aragorn had retired to sleep, vowing in my heart that should the day come, my bow, knives and sword would be at his command. 

The next day we returned to the formality of the Court, where I watched my father greet Aragorn with respect if not affection. He dined with us and spent the night between fine sheets in the palace before taking his leave in the morning. There was little chance for private talk during the evening’s festivities, and the man retired early to his chamber. However my father agreed that I should accompany him part way to the border of our kingdom the next day, an opportunity for further conversation which I seized eagerly. Once again, we conversed easily about a multitude of things, both serious and frivolous. If he had been an elf I would have believed him to be long lost kin, so natural did it seem to be with him. When we reached the end of the path, I was reluctant to turn back, and he to carry on, it seemed. 

“If I had no responsibilities of my own I would gladly shoulder my pack and accompany you in your travels, Aragorn. Your tales of adventure have stirred my heart.” I tried to make light of it.

“And I for my part would welcome a companion such as you, Legolas. Any man would be lucky to fight alongside you. But it is this new friendship which is truly sweet. I do not wish to lose it.”

“Then may you pass through Mirkwood again ere long.”

“I do not know when I shall walk this way again; there is much before me. You will always be welcome in Rivendell though – and I shall be there for much of the coming spring. Perhaps we will meet there if the King’s business leads you that way.”

“Perhaps.” I found it rather hard to smile, then remembered my position. “It has been an honour and a great pleasure to meet you at last, Aragorn. May you journey safely and succeed in all your toils; and may the Lady watch over you.”

“And over you too, Legolas. May you have cause to sing out your joy every morning, until we meet again.”

With that we clasped hands and looked for a long moment into each other’s eyes. I was quite unprepared for his next action – he stepped towards me and kissed me gently on the cheek, then said softly, with his face close to mine, “I did you a great disservice yesterday, Legolas. It is your spirit which is most beauteous of all. Farewell.”

“Farewell,” was all I managed before turning my head to the side, taken aback by the tenderness of his words and his kiss. 

I did not linger to watch him walk away, but stepped into the woods to make my way home. The trees and the Earth have ever been my comfort when sadness threatens to overwhelm me.


	2. Light

A man can only walk in darkness for so long before he must seek out the light, for the sake of his own sanity.

My light has always been the company of elves. Whenever my heart starts to fail me and the tasks ahead of me seem too testing, I know it is time to make a detour into their lands before the dread overwhelms me. 

I do not attempt to worship the elves, as many mortals are wont to do. They are not rare and exotic to me; my foster family and most of my friends are numbered amongst their kind. Beautiful and wondrous they may be, but our relationships are as prone to irritations and misunderstandings as those between humans. 

My need to be amongst them is of a more specific nature.

All elves, from the solemn old ones of the havens to the merry wood folk of Thranduil’s realm, have a God-given connection to the Earth and the Heavens. They absorb joy and strength from their natural surroundings into their spirit, and somehow intensify it, projecting it out again to those around them. I know of no mortal who has this connection to the Earth; and while I may have an immortal ancestor many, many generations back, it has been denied to me. The strength I draw from the elves is a second hand blessing, but none the less real for that.

When I first realised this to be the case, it troubled me, and I sought Elrond’s advice. It pained me to think of myself as a weak and useless parasite, somehow draining my elven friends with my need. My foster father heard what I had to say in silence, then smiled lovingly at me as he placed a hand on my shoulder. He reassured me then that elves draw strength from each other in the same way and that nobody is diminished in the process. “You will never take from an elf’s spirit that which is not freely and willingly given; and you should understand that joy shared is joy doubled.” Even as he hugged me to him, I felt the surge in my soul as his spirit sang to mine.

On that summer morning I felt the hairs rise on my arms and neck as I stepped up to the wood’s edge and saw Legolas. The forest was so beautiful in the early sun, even I could have sung for the joy of it, but never like this. His voice was clear and strong, and the melody brought tears to my eyes. It felt as if everything pure and good in the forest, in the bright sky and the sun’s radiance, was being channelled through him into my heart. I was completely overwhelmed, and staggered a little, alerting him to my presence with clumsy movements, and partially breaking the spell. He turned to me and I looked upon his face.

To those who know how to see it, an elf’s spirit has an aura which glows faintly through their skin. As he turned to me that morning Legolas did not merely glow. He was dazzling, radiant. This was not about physical beauty, although I could not deny that the sight of the golden prince in his silver shirt would be enough to move the hardest heart on that basis alone. It was as if for the briefest of moments I could see his soul, and see that it was strong and innocent, and full of joy. 

How could I fail to love him?

When we parted on the following day he told me he would come with me, had he no responsibilities of his own. I could not begin to tell him how much I wanted it, how much it would mean to me.

I would never walk in darkness again.


	3. Chapter 3

Mithrandir saved me the trouble of finding a reason to visit Rivendell and seek Aragorn’s company once more.

He arrived in Mirkwood in the first days of spring, requesting an audience with the King at the earliest opportunity. My father, as ever, was heartily pleased to see him, but wary of the news he brought. The Istari is merry in his person, but so often bears disturbing tidings. 

This occasion was no exception. As we sat around the wide council table, Mithrandir told us of Elrond’s proposals for an extensive orc hunt, an attempt to clear the way between Mirkwood and Rivendell. Mithrandir confirmed our observation that the number of orcs and other foul beasts in the region had been growing for some time, and that the nature of their attacks was showing a worrying pattern of organisation and confidence. Since the hunt was vital to both our peoples, Elrond was suggesting a combined force: a small, mobile but deadly band of fighters drawn from the two kingdoms. 

After questioning him closely for a while, my father agreed to the plan. To my astonishment, the decision that I should lead the Mirkwood party came from him, before I even had the chance to volunteer. In two hundred years I had not visited Rivendell – my father’s personal dislike of Elrond had made sure that state visits were kept to a minimum, even as messenger contacts continued to flow between the two houses. Now I was being given leave to go, to stay for several weeks, and to seek the adventures I so craved. I struggled to conceal my excitement in the interests of royal decorum, and flung myself into the detailed discussions. Mithrandir seemed to be smiling at some inner joke, and when I caught his eye, I was sure that he sent me a barely perceptible wink.

He and I rode at the head of the small company which set off three days later. We spoke of various matters for a while until I found the moment to ask him.

“Did you use some wizardry on my father, to put into his mind the idea that I should lead this party? You have always seemed to know my thoughts and must have been aware how much I desired this task.”

“Give me credit, Legolas – I prefer to use fair means unless other tactics are strictly necessary. I was prepared to argue on your behalf should the need arise, but in fact the suggestion was your father’s own. It is not so surprising. Honour demands that he sends to Elrond a representative who will lead with confidence and fight with skill and valour. Your brothers may be his preferred representatives at Court, and in dealings of trade and diplomacy, but for this task you are the obvious choice.”

He returned my smile and as usual read my mind. 

“Aragorn is in Rivendell. He will be joining the company and is hoping that you will be there.”

I have always found it easy to open my heart to Mithrandir. Perhaps because he already knows half of what lurks there, spilling out the rest does not seem like telling secrets. 

“I long to see him, although I do not know why he should seem like a truer friend to me than elves I have known for hundreds of years.”

He said nothing, but sucked on his pipe and raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“He has seen much, and recounts it well. If I were free, I would journey with him. I love my family and willingly do as my father wishes, yet I have long yearned for more, as I am sure you know.” He nodded, but did not speak. “I had not appreciated how lonely I was; I wonder if Aragorn realised it before I did.”

“Aragorn himself is a lonely man,” Mithrandir said at length. “He has chosen a dangerous and trying path through these years of his life. His destiny weighs heavily on him and he does not yet fully know how he shall meet it. It is very unusual for him to feel that he can become close to another. He must have recognised something in your spirit, my friend.”

We rode in silence for a time, until he said, “It seems to me, although I can not be certain, that fate had some hand in your meeting. Maybe you have some part to play in this destiny that awaits him.”

I looked at him sharply. “You feel that too? I had a strong sense of it when we met, but dismissed it as the foolishness of an inexperienced youngster desperate for adventure.”

He laughed, but rather sadly, it seemed. “Do not underestimate yourself, Legolas.” 

********************

There is a quality to Rivendell which is unique. Its magic is solemn and wise, and seems to come from Elrond himself, and the other great elf-lords of his house. It is most tangible at night, particularly when the moon is low and the stars shine most brightly. Rivendell’s sound is that of the rushing of its many waterfalls, and its colours are the silvers of birch and fir. My Mirkwood home has its magic too, but it is of a different nature, primal, ancient and green, reaching its heady strength in the midday sun. I love them both; to me, the air of Rivendell is as a draught of cool, clear wine, both fragrant and sharp, after a rich meal. As we arrived at dusk I could feel the enchantment luring me into the forest, and after formally greeting Elrond, I sought his leave to wander a while to refresh myself. He smiled graciously at me, and I wondered again why my father could not put the bitterness of the past behind him and make his peace with the lord of Imladris. 

“I hope that you will treat my house as your home, Prince Legolas, and wander as you wish.” 

We agreed that the company should dine together somewhat later, and went our separate ways. A young elf showed me to a simple, elegant room, and it took me moments to arrange my belongings. I wondered briefly whether to try to find Aragorn, but a glance from my window across the grey-green valley was enough to decide me. I took off my boots, ran down the stairs and over the terraces, through the gate and into the trees.

Sitting with my back against a tree, near a small bridge below a waterfall, I watched the sky turn from indigo to black as the stars reached their full brightness. Letting my mind empty, I slowed my breathing to match the rhythm of the forest, and experienced peace. I must have passed into a state bordering sleep, because this time I was not aware of the presence of another until he spoke.

“So I disturb you once again, Legolas. But this time on my father’s orders.” 

It only took an instant for me to focus my thoughts, then I leapt up and ran towards Aragorn as he stood motionless on the bridge.

“Aragorn! I am happy indeed to see you.”

“And I, to see you.”

A moment of foolish grinning followed, and then we both stepped forward, and hugged each other, as brothers or comrades might do.

It took all my powers of self control not to flinch away and back off across the bridge, in the shock of that moment, that embrace. For the sensation of sudden tightness in my belly, and the thumping of my pulse behind my ears, were unmistakable. 

Desire. Urgently physical and strong, unnervingly strong.

I extricated myself from Aragorn’s arms as gracefully as I could, and forced myself to calm down, to ignore the unwanted feelings, while studying his face intently to see if he had noticed. As far as I could see, he was wearing the same grin as before – a good sign, I felt. 

Words continued to fail me, but he stepped into the breach.

“Elrond bid me gently remind you that dinner is about to be served.”

“Of course… I had quite lost myself in the night’s magic.”

“So I could see.” He smiled even more widely.

My mind was clearing. “You think I have lost my skills, to let you catch me off my guard?”

“No, I was referring to your… your glow.”

I glanced at my hands, which were admittedly a little more luminous than usual. And then felt my eyebrows draw together in a frown. “You can see it? I thought that men could not.”

“It is the sign of a true elf-friend, obviously ...” He smirked.

We laughed, and I relaxed, and thought perhaps there was hope for me.

“I should put on some shoes before dinner, I think. Princely duty, and suchlike...”

“I shall save you a seat next to me. There is much I wish to tell you.” 

Side by side, we walked towards the house.


	4. Warrior

When he fights, his beauty is terrifying.

He stands quite still, straight and tall, and moves his hand from quiver to bow almost too fast for my eyes. Even in the confusion of a skirmish at dusk I have never seen his arrow miss its mark. His gaze does not linger to see his victim fall, but already has a new target in sight.

When the bow will no longer suffice he draws his knives and becomes perhaps more fearsome. He dances with deadly grace amongst his opponents, leaping, twisting, spinning and ducking, bringing them to grief, as often as not, through their own clumsy movements as they attempt to intercept him. 

To the enemy locked in his stare his attention must seem absolute, but I have seen him reach behind and dispatch another opponent with a swift thrust or kick, without for a moment breaking eye contact with the creature before him. 

His movements are so swift and sure, they appear to be long practised. And yet he fights only by constantly changing his tactics, reacting and anticipating, seizing the opportunity of weakness presented to him. 

At first I could not reconcile the nature of this dreadful warrior with that of the gentle, playful elf who finds rapture in the starlight and trees. When I tried to ask him of this apparent contradiction, he had little to say. 

Eventually he offered, “To those who serve the darkness, Aragorn, a swift death is more than a kindness.” 

I looked into his eyes then, and was humbled by what I saw. The ancient sorrow of the elves who have known a bliss beyond evil, and have lived through its long debasement and corruption. If I had not known his true age, I could have believed that Legolas had witnessed the dawn of suffering in Middle Earth at first hand.

A momentary lull in the struggle around me allows me to look across at him where he fights. He does not seem to tire, nor does the stench of blood and death appear to affect him. His strength, speed and intelligence in battle are breathtaking, but that is not what holds me in awe. It is the magnificent calm with which he dispenses death that makes me weak. Awareness hits me like the tug of dread in my gut. I may call him a friend, but in truth he will be forever alien to me, burning with a controlled intensity that I may never touch or comprehend.

Of course it is in that instant, when its utter futility becomes apparent to me, that my desire for him reaches its peak.


	5. Chapter 5

It was neither an easy campaign, nor a short one. Well over a month had passed before we returned to Rivendell, having travelled further down the river than we had intended, and higher into the mountains than we had hoped. Success was ours in part; we had routed three large nests of orcs and numerous smaller groups, while sustaining few casualties of our own. However, there was no doubt in our minds that these victories were but a scratch at the surface of the evil emanating from Dol Guldur; it seemed that Sauron’s stronghold there was indeed growing in might. 

At the Old Ford I parted company with most of the Mirkwood Elves, sending them home with news of our deeds for my father. I was to join the party returning to Rivendell, to take counsel with Elrond before returning home. With me was Meluinen, my captain and friend, and two young archers as our guard. Meluinen’s joy at this turn of events was as I expected; I had noticed him paying much attention to a particularly lively elf-maid before we left Rivendell. As I watched the remainder of my fighters bidding farewell to the elves of Imladris, I felt a warm surge of hope. If nothing else had come of this venture, the ties between Mirkwood and Rivendell had become stronger in the camaraderie of our small army.

So we returned to the house of Elrond, battle-weary but in good spirits, ready for rest and comfort. Elrond himself stood at the large gate to greet us, love for his sons and deep relief written clearly in the lines of his face. I was both surprised and pleased when he embraced me almost as warmly as them, thanking Elbereth for my safe return. 

A great feast was declared for late that night, but full council, Elrond decided, should wait until the next day. This left us a long afternoon and evening to take our rest. Aragorn, I knew, would wish to visit his mother, and Meluinen his sweetheart. For myself, I wished only to bathe and find some peace for my body, mind and soul. 

Lying back in the warm water I gently kneaded the muscles of my neck and shoulders, sighing with a brief flash of longing for the bathing attendants of my father’s palace. Elrond’s ways were different from ours, and he lived a simpler life with far fewer servants; on this occasion I would have to unmake my own knots. Eventually I felt total relaxation seep through my body and sank down even lower in the bath, resting without conscious thought until the water became uncomfortably cool. I stepped from the bath and dried myself, luxuriating in the enormous soft towels that smelled faintly of summer rain. 

The afternoon was unusually grey and blustery for the time of year, so I decided to rest in my chamber rather than walk through the forest. I lay on my back and stretched happily. Even an elf who loves the trees as I do can be seduced by the comfort of a large feather bed, especially when he has slept in the open, with one ear alert for danger, for the past six weeks.

At last I could begin the most important part of the healing that comes after battle. I could dismantle the wall of self control that had bound my mind since we had departed from Rivendell, and sort through my thoughts and feelings in peace. I reflected first on those I had slain, and offered a brief prayer that their tortured souls may find release through my intervention. I mentally reviewed the performance of the Mirkwood elves, including myself, and concluded that my father could be proud of our conduct and achievement. I pondered for a while the news we had dragged, painfully, from the captured orcs – news of the great power arising and strengthening in the East and in Dol Guldur – and wondered where these dread tidings might yet take us.

I could avoid it no longer; my thoughts at last turned to Aragorn, and my feelings for him.

After my crisis on the bridge that first night in Rivendell, I had made a rapid and pragmatic decision. My desire for him may have been some sort of temporary madness; if not, I could not allow myself the luxury of examining it further. We were about to lead our comrades into danger; such personal matters could not be allowed to interfere in any way with the campaign. I resolved to avoid being alone with Aragorn, or embarking on private conversations with him, and to store away all attendant feelings until our mission was over. I do not have the ability to erase my thoughts and memories completely, but like most elves I have learned to keep them hidden until the appropriate moment arrives for their re-examination. 

As it turned out, my task was not too difficult. Once we left Rivendell, there was little opportunity or incentive to stray away from the main group, and at our camps we were never alone. A routine fairly quickly established itself, whereby Aragorn and I formed a close knit team along with Meluinen, Elladan and Elrohir. The five of us worked together well in our strategy discussions, and enjoyed each others’ company when we rested. I was also careful to spend a significant amount of my time amongst the other Mirkwood elves, some of whom had been my friends for centuries. I always led a different watch from Aragorn, and bathed only in the company of others.

All of this did not stop me enjoying his company or admiring his skill. It became obvious straight away that we all deferred to him, although he was but one tenth of the age of the youngest of us. His natural authority, composed of equal parts of wisdom, experience and courage, was apparent from the start. It amused me to see Aragorn, who had chosen exile over the birthright of kings, stepping so easily into the role of leader. I wondered if he was aware of himself in this. 

Watching him fight was a revelation. Although his techniques had clearly been learned from elves, he added to them a style which was wholly human. In place of the smooth composure which we strive for, he fought with open passion, blood and rage and sheer physical power. Yet he never lost control or allowed his vigour to cloud his judgement. In spite of my good intentions, I found myself staring at him on a number of occasions, as he moved through the throng of our enemies like a force of nature. 

I could not deny that my respect and admiration for the man had only increased, whilst in the absence of any further private moments, lingering looks or touches, feelings of desire for him had not troubled me. Perhaps it had been a momentary thing, some unexpected response to the unfamiliar contact with this mortal, with his pulse, his body heat, his very chemistry, so subtly different from my own.

Relaxed and secure, I let the final barriers go, and allowed my mind to drift freely. I saw him as he waded into the river in Mirkwood, and as he laughed into my eyes as we lay on the forest floor. I felt again his kiss on my cheek as we had parted, and his strong arms around me as we embraced on the bridge. I watched again as he swung up into his saddle and led a charge down hill; as he sprang up from beside the fire with joy in his eyes to greet Elladan and me on our return from a scouting trip, as he carved his way through the horde of orcs like an ancient king of the West….. 

The mind is a wonderful thing, and that of an elf is long schooled in reason and self control. I had all but persuaded myself that the danger was past, and perhaps it may have been, had my mind been the only player in this game. But as I lay there, naked and alone, letting thoughts of him wash over me, I discovered my weakness, and knew that in the end I am not so different from a man after all. 

I listened finally to my body, and took my aching erection in my hand.

It seems to me that I made a choice at that moment. I could have refused to give in to my arousal – the temporary discomfort would pass, and I could revel in level-headed virtue. I could have given myself the relief I needed, but turned my thoughts to other, less troubling images. But having acknowledged the situation at last, perhaps it was inevitable that I should see it through to its shattering conclusion.

After a few gentle strokes, I left my cock to swell untouched. A shiver ran through me as I ran my hands over my chest, imagining Aragorn striding into the room, unkempt and austere as if from battle, leather coat swinging about him, sword at his belt. I pictured him sitting in the chair next to the bed, hands clasped between his knees, leaning forward to watch me in my nakedness, his glance roaming across my body before his storm-grey eyes locked with mine. 

I closed my eyes, the better to see the object of my desire, stepping up to the bed and seating himself beside me. As I stroked myself I imagined that his were the hands caressing my thighs, my belly, my nipples, my neck…. His fingers would be coarse and calloused, but the worn black leather of his gloves smooth and warm, as he wordlessly explored my body, without seeking permission or offering explanation. 

By now my pulse was racing and my breathing erratic. Never had I felt arousal like this. I wanted to prolong the delicious waves of feeling sweeping through my body, but had rapidly passed beyond the point of self control. 

My hand sought my cock again and I began to work it firmly and slowly, while my other arm stretched out behind my head. Now I writhed in Aragorn’s control, my wrists pinned behind my head in his rough, strong grasp, twisting from side to side in an effort to fulfil my need. His hand on my cock slowed to a terrible halt and he released his grip, only to stroke lightly up and down the length of it, and slowly around the tip. 

I whimpered, “Please,” as he teased me unmercifully, all the while gazing into my eyes, a strangely stern expression on his face. Turning my head away in desperation, I heard him speak, finally. 

“Look at me,” was all he said. 

In my mind, I turned to him once more and felt the answering pressure I needed. Strength and speed built up gradually, inexorably, until I could bear it no longer. I cried out his name as the most intense orgasm of my life overwhelmed me. The whole of my body seemed to spasm uncontrollably, and my blood screamed in my ears.

As my breathing returned to normal, I stared blankly at the ceiling in troubled disbelief. The nature of my fantasy shocked me. Until this day, sex had for me been a matter of light and beauty, comfort and play. Love for Aragorn, gentle friend, wise leader, beautiful man, I could accept. But desire for the grimy, hard-eyed warrior, the strength and violence, the utter mortal maleness of him, was something I was unprepared for. 

I had absolutely no idea how I was going to deal with it, but deal with it I must. Even as I reflected on the problem, wondering how it could be that he could excite me so, I felt my arousal building again.


	6. Desire

When Gimli first heard the start of my story he laughed incredulously. 

“It came as a shock to you? So much for the fabled wisdom of the elves. You told me yourself that you had to turn away from him at the river to avoid staring at him. Did you not recognise desire then?”

It is true that I had found him beautiful. But I had turned away to spare him embarrassment, not through any dismay at my own feelings. It is natural for an elf to appreciate beauty, a fundamental fact of our existence, and a matter of the spirit, quite separate from the physical sensation of desire. I am certain that, at our first meeting, my spirit alone was moved. How, then, did my body come to be in his thrall?

I was not completely unfamiliar with the sensual pleasures of the flesh. I could not say that I had experienced passion, but I had from time to time indulged in the languorous caresses of an elven companion. The friend whose massage of my aching muscles at the end of a long day’s hunting led to the sharing of more intimate touches; the attentions of an elf-maid of the palace while I bathed. These encounters, languid, subtle and relaxed, are not uncommon amongst younger elves, and there is a sweetness, almost an innocence to them. We delight in each other, even as we delight in the rest of creation around us. Possession and penetration play no part in our amorous games. 

It is not that we are incapable of feeling the fire of physical love. Such ardour between elves, however, is usually slow to grow, and its fullest expression, the moment of penetration and release, is the sealing of a deeper commitment. So we find sexual fulfilment in the embrace of one true love; not through any sense of moral virtue, but simply because we are made that way.

Some may wait thousands of years for that one to enter their lives; others may live an eternity and never experience such intense happiness with another. This does not seem such a tragedy to an elf as it might to a mortal. We do not share the desperate need of men to bind themselves in sexual union and achieve release; procreation is not our route to immortality, and we know other sources of joy which they can barely begin to comprehend.

Yet when an elf truly loves, it is a strong and awesome thing. Elves have been known to die of grief at the loss of a beloved, although this is not as common as men, with their exalted romantic notions of us, would like to believe. Paradoxically, they also call us cold, mistaking our circumspect self control for lack of emotion. But why should we rush when time does not hasten us? It is well that we reflect before embracing love, for the ties that we do make are not easily broken, and the pain that we suffer lasts for eternity.


	7. Chapter 7

Aragorn caught my arm as I headed out of the stable door. I froze, and attempted to smile at him.

“I would speak with you, Legolas,” he said levelly, the look in his eyes far from neutral. “Will you walk with me for a while?”

So it had happened, in spite of my efforts to keep distance between us in the two days since our return. As I could think of no way of refusing without being uncivil, I nodded my agreement.

We set off towards the forest in silence, Aragorn walking slightly ahead of me, leading the way with my mute acquiescence. He stopped at a stone bench by the river and motioned for me to sit. He took his place at the far end of the seat, and we gazed at the water for a while. Acutely aware of the immaturity of my behaviour, I still had no idea what to say.

“If you will not talk to me, will you at least listen?” he asked.

“I will listen, Aragorn,” I replied softly. At the sound of his name he turned to me quickly and a brief smile touched his lips. His eyes were dark with emotion. Anger, I thought.

We stared at the river again as he began to speak, swiftly and urgently. I wondered if he had rehearsed this speech.

“It is not normally easy for me to open my heart to a stranger, Legolas. Yet when I met you it seemed as natural as breathing. Brief though it was, your friendship was a source of joy to me, and I believed you felt the same. I can understand you wishing to show me no favour while we led our men to battle, but this, here, is... you slip from the room as I enter it; you seat yourself away from me; you refuse to catch my eye – where is our friendship now? In a few days I must leave with Mithrandir, and it seems that our path may take us to Mordor itself this time. Who knows if I will return? I cannot allow myself to leave without trying to resolve this difficulty between us. If I can retrieve it, I will not let our friendship wither due to my base stupidity.”

My attention was suddenly all on him as I turned in my seat to stare. “Your stupidity?”

He seemed to focus his gaze on a tree on the far side of the river as he said, tonelessly, “It is not easy for me to say this, but perhaps I must. I was raised by elves, Legolas, and I may know your language, your customs, your songs, your fighting techniques, but I am not one of you. I cannot control my feelings the way that you can, and I know that you have seen it in my face, in my gestures, in my actions around you, however much I tried to hide it. I did not ask for this, nor did I expect it; I thought myself immune to the foolishness of men in the presence of your kind. I do not understand it, but I cannot simply make it disappear. But please believe that I am a man of honour and whatever my weakness, I will keep it to myself. I would never try to act on it, or embarrass you in any fashion. I know only too well how ludicrous it is for me to want you this way.”

His voice tailed off into silence and he sat motionless, staring miserably at the opposite bank. This was too much to take in, too much to process at once, but I knew I had to speak now to ease his discomfort. In spite of the faint humming in my head and the pounding of my heart, I spoke slowly, and as calmly as I could.

“Aragorn, please look at me,” I said. Obediently, he turned his head to me, and met my eyes. He must have seen something there to reassure him, as he shifted in his seat to face me more completely. I leaned towards him a little, and placed a hand on his arm. 

“If there is stupidity here,” I said, “It is all mine. Your candour puts me to shame, and much as I fear the prospect, I would be as honest with you.”

He looked to the ground, but I made myself wait until he raised his head again and held my gaze with his own. In an instant, I had made my decision, and my mind may have been apparent to him, for the look of utter dejection began to leave his face.

“You overestimate my powers of observation, I am afraid. I have been so busy attempting to suppress and avoid my own unexpected feelings, I have paid no heed to yours. For this alone I would beg your forgiveness.”

“Your feelings?” He frowned.

“Yes, my feelings - ” I paused, “ – towards you. It seems that whatever this ‘ludicrous’ malady is, it has afflicted us both.”

“You mean you...” A smile slowly widened on his face. “You have been avoiding me because you were afraid of this? I have not offended you?”

“Far from it.”

The smile left his face as, unthinkingly, I slid my hand over his wrist until it lay across his fingers where they rested on his leg. 

Neither of us spoke as he turned his hand slowly under mine to clasp it gently. In response I curled my fingers around his palm, stroking the warm muscle of his thigh as I did so. His eyes widened and he caught his breath, but still we sat silently, and our eyes did not stray from each other’s.

All my being was focussed on our touch. I could sense his pulse, his heat, his very life force through that simple contact, and the feeling of euphoria rushed through me. I wondered, briefly, how much of it he felt too, with his mortal senses that I could never know. He must have felt something; his breathing only quickened further.

“What are we going to do?” He broke the silence, finally.

“I do not know.” On the face of it the choice was quite straightforward: submit to our mutual desire, a thought which greatly unnerved me, or turn away from it, a prospect which seemed barely possible at that moment. Clearly we both knew that the further consequences might be anything but simple, and so the question was not a foolish one. Nor was it to be solved by logic alone. 

“I think...” he started, but broke off as I slid myself along the bench towards him, my body once again making the choice for me. 

“I have already thought too much,” I told him, before bringing my other hand around the back of his neck, and pulling his head towards mine.

I could have foreseen it. I have known ecstasy with my arms around a great tree, letting the pulse of its life fill my spirit. How much stronger would the feeling be with my arms around this vital human, my lips on his, hungrily seeking his very essence from the secret depths of his mouth? As our tongues met and his arms moved around my waist, mine around his neck, eyes closed, nothing existing but this kiss, the blood rushed in my veins, and I felt my body shaking with the power of it. It was quick, and urgent, full of joy and wonder and fear and pain and life... I tasted his brief mortality, and it was bittersweet, and utterly compelling. 

A small, desperate, moan from him brought me back to myself, and I pulled my head away, opened my eyes.

His face was rigid with shock, or awe, or perhaps horror.

“Gods, Legolas,” he whispered, “I think that you might kill me.”

I struggled to control my breathing.

“Forgive me, Aragorn, that was selfish of me, I should have known -”

“That you would stop my heart and burst my lungs? My prince, I already know that you are deadlier than a field of orcs, you do not have to prove it to me this way.”

I felt my lips twitch at the corners, and raised an eyebrow at the stern expression he had assumed. Leaning into him, I held him close, as the laughter welled up in me. After a moment, I felt his body begin to shake too, in silent mirth. We laughed long, the tearful laughter of sweet relief. Our friendship, it would seem, was safe.

“Shall we go in? I know private places in these woods, but they are some way from here,” Aragorn said at last, rather hesitantly.

Immediately, the moment of relaxation passed, and my pulse quickened again.

“I think... Yes.” 

He sprang from the bench and took my hand, pulling me up as well, but stood still so that I was eye to eye with him.

“Is it always like that when you kiss?” 

“I have not kissed a man before.”

His eyes narrowed. “But elves?”

“No.”

“Not like this, or you haven’t….?”

“Maybe it would be like that if I kissed an elf for whom I felt strongly, I do not know. But I imagine it would be - different. There is something very… immediate… about you.”

I could see him taking in all the implications of this statement, and wondered if I should have been more circumspect. But after that first reckless kiss my defences were unmanned.

“Try not to kill me this time,” he said, and pulled me towards him.

I let him take the lead, which he did softly, sweetly. But the gentle kiss soon developed into an altogether hungrier affair as his hand behind my neck, under my hair, pulled me closer still. I stepped forward, and shuddered as his other arm around my waist suddenly arched my whole body into his. The heat of it was incredible. His heart beating against my chest, his erection hard against mine, his tongue pushing between my lips, opening me, exploring me, making me weak… I did not trust myself to speak when he finally pulled away.

His voice was hoarse. “I want this too much. It frightens me. I don’t know...”

It took me a moment to realise that he was looking to me, older by five and a half centuries, for reassurance. Truly, passion had dulled my wits. I probably felt as unsure as he did, but I made the effort. I placed my hands on his shoulders and stepped back a little.

“We do not have to carry on, if you do not want to...”

“I would surely die of it, if we stopped now.” His voice was low.

“I am sorry I am causing you such peril, one way and another, when all I seek is to share some pleasure with you.” I deliberately kept my tone light, although the obvious strength of his lust was threatening to make my legs collapse under me. 

“Come, let us go in.” I took the lead, but dropped his hand discreetly as we passed through the gates into the courtyard of the main house. 

“To my chambers,” he said, barely audibly, “They are more private.”

He locked the door of the small outer sitting room behind us, and wordlessly drew me into his bedchamber. I could see from his eyes that he was still worried, and I determined to play the adult, regardless of the tension in my gut. I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him to sit beside me. I took one of his hands and clasped it between mine.

“Tell, me, Aragorn, what is it that you are afraid of? Is this such a new experience?”

He hesitated a while, but eventually sighed, “I have not lain with a man before, nor indeed an elf of either sex, if that is what you mean.”

“Not even in play, when you were younger?” I was genuinely surprised.

“I know it is quite normal, for elves, but never around me. I have never asked him, but I suspect that Elrond made sure of that; I understand why, now – I should probably never have reached the age of thirty.” His smile was wry.

“That is not what worries me, though,” he added. “I would not risk a valued friendship even for the sake of – this.”

I thought back to something he had said me at the end of that long magical night in Mirkwood – “A hunted man sometimes wearies of distrust and longs for friendship” - and I understood.

“The night we first met, Aragorn, I watched you sleep and swore a silent vow of friendship to you. My behaviour over the last few weeks has not been easy to forgive, but I would ask you to put it behind us now. I will say to you openly: whatever happens between us today, or tomorrow, or after, my friendship is yours, and I shall be honoured to stand at your side and call you brother, for as long as you walk this Earth.”

I thought I saw the glitter of moisture in his eyes as he raised my hands to his lips and kissed them gently, first one, then the other. 

“I do not know if you realise how much that means to me, Legolas. You too may count on me to be at your side as long as I have the strength to stand there.”

The feel of his lips on my skin sent tentacles of fire through me, even as I revelled in his sweet words. My decision made, I abandoned myself to it and cast doubt aside. 

“Let us forget solemnity for a while now, my lord,” I suggested, “And see what pleasures such a friendship may bring.”

With that, I turned, and moved onto my knees, one either side of his thighs, to sit on his lap with my face close to his. His reaction was beautiful: eyes wide and breath racing, he ran a hand up each of my thighs and under my tunic, to rest them on my hips. I laughed, and kissed him softly, while working the fastenings at the front of his tunic, deliberately keeping a little space between our bodies. He tried to run his hands further up my sides, but cursed as my belt hindered him. 

“Let me help you.” I untied and unclasped it, followed closely by his. His tunic now fully open, I ran both my hands down his chest, amazed by the softness of the hair there. I stopped at the waistband of his leggings, and waited while he fumbled with the ties on my shirt. Eventually I shrugged it to the floor, and sat back a little to look at him better, as he pushed his tunic off his arms and onto the bed. 

“Beautiful man,” I whispered to him.

“You call me beautiful?” he said incredulously, “When you are.. so..”

“Shh” I silenced him with my lips once more.

If uncertainty remained, he did not show it, as a strong hand found the small of my back and pulled my body into his. All thought fled as he crushed my chest against his, sucking my lips greedily, then moved his hands up to my arms to steady me as his lips sought my throat, my shoulders, and finally my chest. I had never known such painfully bright pleasure as this, and moaned unashamedly as his lips and tongue moved from one nipple to the other. 

After a while his hands dropped to my hips and he pulled back far enough to look me in the eye.

“Take these off for me, please.”

A polite request, given in a tone of quiet command. Shock ran through me and collected in a searing bolt of need in my groin as I remembered my image of him, watching me naked and helpless. How had our positions been reversed so easily?

I stood, and removed my leggings, with rather less grace than I might have hoped for.

“Wait,” he said, even as I started to move towards the bed. “Let me look at you first.”

A desperate thought flitted across my mind – was it possible that I could come with only his eyes upon me? I certainly felt close to doing so. I felt my face flush as I closed my eyes.

“Would you not look at me?” he asked, a note of amusement in his voice.

“I would do more than that!” I could stand it no longer, and closed the distance between us in an instant. 

Whether we were wrestling for dominance, or simply to get as much of our bodies in contact as possible, I am not sure. Wrestle we did; hands, legs, mouths everywhere, rolling across the big bed and off it, onto the rug with a shout from me and a brief snort of laughter from him. At length we settled, his body heavy on mine, my legs wrapped around his hips, him propped on his elbows, gazing relentlessly into my face as he moved his cock so maddeningly against mine.

“Aragorn...” My voice sounded weak, breathy. “I believe you might enjoy this even more if you were to remove those accursed leggings.”

“Do it for me.”

I did not need to be told twice. Rolling him onto his side I undid the fastenings with care, and pulled the fabric slowly around his erection, intending to tease him by withholding my touch. But once his cock was revealed, I found I had little heart for the game. Leggings dispensed with, I stroked and kissed my way up his legs and without preamble, licked his cock from base to tip, circled there with my tongue for a moment, then took the greater part of its length in my mouth.

His gasp gave me no small sense of satisfaction. A fantasy is one thing, reality another. My need for this beautiful man had made me weak and indecisive for too long. Now I would accept it for what it should be – a celebration of strength and joy.

I felt a song building in my heart, as his hands twisted in my hair and he called my name sharply, and I brought him to his first climax.


	8. Reality

I had dreamed of lying with him more times than I would care to count. I may have chosen a solitary life, but I am still a man.

At first, after we met in Mirkwood, my fantasies were of the fey and delicately beautiful elf, trembling under my touch. I would coax him into pleasure and bask in his dazzling smile.

Once I had watched him in battle and had seen his strength unleashed, my imagination had me worshipping his glorious warrior’s body, labouring to disturb his composure. At length he would respond, unable to hold himself back.

When I perceived that he had turned from me, becoming ever more distant and cold, my visions grew increasingly cruel. This shamed me, and prompted me to take action, to end this obsession.

I could have indulged in a thousand different fantasies of being with him and never come close to the truth of it.

His body was no surprise - it was all that I had hoped for, and more. Compact muscles a mere suggestion beneath the smooth softness of flawless skin - hairless, pale skin with the faint sheen of spirit light; it is small wonder that men are prone to comparing elves to fine statues carved of ivory or alabaster, or cast in precious metal. There was nothing about him that was not perfect, to my eyes, in its form or finish. Such beauty should have been unapproachable, far outside my reach. 

That he should desire me was beyond my comprehension at the start. 

For twenty years I lived amongst elves and never doubted that some of them loved me. I knew also their anger, sadness and happiness, each in its time. It is said that elves feel both joy and sorrow more deeply than men do, and this I did not question. But it seemed that such emotion was slower than mine and somehow distant and serene, locked inside the elven mind for all eternity. How then would an elf desire another? With slow, measured dignity, full of ritual and respect?

One embrace from Legolas shattered my assumptions and left me utterly at his mercy.

I asked him about that kiss, once the power of coherent thought had returned to me later that evening. He told me he had connected with my life force, but was unable to explain how. 

“Do the trees feel as I did, when you turn to them?” I asked him, half in jest.

He laughed, but then apologised, saying that he would not normally be so intrusive; he had forgotten himself for a moment and been as overwhelmed as I. There was no need for me to ask how he could be certain of this. If I had to explain it, I would say that during those moments, he knew me, and felt what I was feeling; while for the briefest instant I, too, had a faint idea of what it was to be him. Even if I were the one facing eternal life, I do not believe that knowledge would ever leave me. I had heard men talk of hearts bursting with happiness, and thought it a fanciful phrase, but I can come no closer to describing how it felt to me. A powerful mixture of joy and wonderment, excitement and desire, threatened to burst mine, and left me reeling. 

The connection was there to some extent in all our kisses and caresses, although he took care not to frighten me again. No wonder, then, that he was such a wonderful lover, sensing my responses and feeding them back to me, magnified ten fold. 

“Do all elves have this power?” I could not help but ask.

“To some extent, when they wish,” he replied.

“Why, then, would you dream of choosing a mortal lover?” I was not just seeking reassurance, but was genuinely bemused.

“I did not choose!” he laughed. “You captivated me with your body and mind first; but I find your spirit is beautiful too – no less so than that of another elf. Besides, it is all the more exciting for our differences – is it not?”

I could not deny it.

What then of distance and serenity? Did all elves hold within them the capacity for such direct love and passion? Such earthy physicality where I had expected remote and cerebral dignity?

“Don’t forget that I am no lofty lord of Rivendell,” he reminded me with a grin, when I questioned him again. “We wood elves are an altogether merrier and less mysterious people. And by our own standards, I am considered impulsive. Yet maybe we are not so different, my distant kin and I – perhaps only in the degree to which we choose to show our inner feelings to others.”

I had fantasised of an idealised, beautiful creature, entirely passive and remote, and thought that I would never be lucky enough to realise that dream. I will never understand how I came to deserve the lover I found in reality: strong and joyful, generous and loving, strangely innocent, yet at the same time devastatingly sensual.

When I woke with him beside me for the first time, I knew beyond doubt that I was in love, and had inadvertently discovered the meaning of bliss.


	9. Chapter 9

Those five days were the happiest I had known.

We did not discuss the need for discretion, but at breakfast and dinner we took care to sit apart. He spent time with Elrond and his mother, I with my Mirkwood kin. The rest of the day, however, was ours. 

We walked and rode in the forest, high into the valley. The days were blessed with golden sunshine, the evenings clear and still. In the warm, fragrant air we laughed and talked, played and swam, made love on the forest floor, in the sturdy branches of ancient trees, in the cold clear pools below the waterfalls. Sometimes sweet and gentle, sometimes hard and urgent, we learned the secrets of each other’s bodies, and delighted in our findings. 

At night, after the feasting was over, and we had sat with our friends for a while listening to tales and song, I would slip through the quiet corridors to find him waiting for me in his bed. On that first afternoon, when finally we lay together, spent and silent, tracing gentle designs on skin with lazy fingers, he had asked me, tentatively, “Will you stay here with me tonight?”

“You would have to lock your door again, to keep me away,” I murmured in response, and kissed him once more.

At some point shortly before dawn he would finally give in to sleep, and I would hold him, watching him in his lovely vulnerability, memorising every detail of his strong, scarred, weather beaten form. Everything that set him apart from me - his human imperfections, the soft hair on his chest, his gentle snoring, his sweat, even his beard which had initially repulsed me - I found that they moved me now to an impossible degree. 

I am sure that I realised, even on the first night, that what I felt for Aragorn was more than a happy coincidence of friendship and lust; but I did not give a name to my thoughts. I could think on it at length when we had parted, as we must by the end of the week, each returning to his own responsibilities. For now I wanted simply to enjoy the moments we had together.

On the fifth day we walked in the forest, hand in hand. We laughed little and avoided talking of the reason for our sadness, but it stood between us for a while. There would be time enough for that, and I did not wish our last evening together to be blighted by it. I led him to the shade of a large plane tree on a mossy bank, and slipped off my boots, motioning to him to do the same. I sat with my back to the tree trunk, and he sat between my raised knees, back against my chest, head on my shoulder. I held him then, rested my head on the bark of the ancient tree, felt the moss between my toes, and became still. 

I do not know how long we sat there. After a while I sang to him, the song of the forest, as it filled me. I felt my sorrow leave me as the ancient wisdom of the Earth and the trees flowed in my veins, and the knowledge of my place in the world – so central and yet so insignificant - overcame me. I was only half aware of his shoulders sagging, relaxation stealing through him, his weight falling more completely onto me; but eventually, some time after my song had finished, he shifted and turned in my arms. 

His eyes and face were wet with tears, but he was smiling. His “Thank you” was barely more than a whisper.

We made love there on the moss beneath the tree, and I use the term deliberately, because there could be no doubt that this was beyond mere lust. He kissed every inch of my body with a reverence almost unbearably sweet, and brought me to my climax in his mouth, with soft, slow movements of tongue and lips that seemed to last a lifetime in that golden afternoon. 

That night as we lay in his bed I too succumbed to sleep, briefly, some hours before morning. 

I dreamed of Aragorn. He stood before me, dressed in fine clothes such as I had never seen on a man. A green gem was on his breast and a silver circlet on his head. He wore a cloak the colour of midnight and a great sword hung at his belt. His eyes were full of sorrow as they held mine. I tried to speak to him, but no words came from my mouth, and an immense grief filled me. “I am sorry,” he said in a low voice, then turned from me, walked through an archway of stone, and was gone from my sight.

I awoke, and lay for some time, feeling his breath on my cheek and the weight of his arm across my chest. I do not have the gift of prescience, as some of my kin do, but I felt sure that this dream was not to be ignored. I pondered its meaning for a while, then slipped from the bed, a certainty growing in my mind. Aragorn stirred, but settled again; when I was confident that he would sleep on, I pulled on a robe and left the room.

Elrond’s library was large and gloomy, and I knew little of the arrangement of the books there. It took me a while to find what I wanted, with the light of a single candle to help me, but at last I settled on a bench with the great book before me. 

I had read for maybe an hour when I became aware of another’s approach. I should not, I suppose, have been surprised to see Elrond before me. As with Mithrandir, it seems that few of his actions occur by chance. He seemed unsurprised to see me, although his face rarely gives much away.

“Prince Legolas.” He sat across from me and fixed me with his level gaze. “Are you well? It is not your habit to rest here in the night.”

“I awoke with a mind full of questions, Lord Elrond, and thought that I may find some answers here.”

“The answer you find here is likely to be another question, is it not?” he said innocently, but I was not fooled. He is not regarded as wise amongst the wise for no reason.

“And to that other question, I believe you may have the answer, my lord, if I may ask.”

“Ask as you will, Legolas, and I shall answer, if I may.” He smiled at me, a smile of infinite wisdom and patience, it seemed.

“Arag- Estel and I have become close, as you know. His friendship means a great deal to me,” I started off, remembering too late to use Aragorn’s more public name. 

Elrond’s lips twitched briefly, and he appeared for a moment as a young man. “I do not believe he would object to you using his true name before me.” I glanced down to avoid meeting his eye, for I was afraid I might blush. “You are rare and precious to him; he has few he can trust outside Rivendell.”

I had to meet his eye again as I asked, “Lord Elrond, he is the one, is he not?” I did not need to explain further, I was sure he understood my meaning.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, very softly.

I thought for a moment. “From the moment we met, I was conscious of his... destiny… before him, I can not explain how. At first I thought only of his fight against the dark forces as leader of the Dúnedain. I am not so familiar with the lore of his people, as you see,” I gestured to the book on my lap, “but I have watched him in battle, and more, taking the mantle of leadership without even realising it, and wearing it so well. I have felt it, and dreamed of it…. am I not right?”

Elrond sighed. “It is not for me to say what will be in the future, Legolas. But my heart has long told me that he is indeed the one. The day is not yet at hand, but it will not be long coming; Narsil will be renewed, and Aragorn’s shall be the hand that holds it.”

A shiver ran through me. “I know all too well that the darkness is rising – for many years now we have fought it in Mirkwood. But the evil you speak of is greater still, I fear.”

“Indeed, and ours may be the final chance to fight it. It is an unspeakable burden for one man’s shoulders, even a man such as Aragorn.”

“But he knows?” The question sounded foolish to my ears. Elrond did not seem to think so.

“He has yet to accept the full implications of his destiny. I believe he does know what he must do, but he has still to grow in strength and wisdom. It is a choice he must make from his heart.”

We sat in silence for a time. My mind was in turmoil, but one thought stood out clearly. I needed to say it.

“When the day comes, Lord Elrond, he will not be alone. I do not know what little part there may be for me to play, but I will play it willingly. I would gladly stand beside him and face the evil with him. I would ask you to remember that, when it is time, and you counsel him.”

He looked at me, and I could not avert my gaze. I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was searching my soul. “There will be a part for you, a not insignificant one, of that I am strangely sure,” he said slowly. “And it gives me comfort to know that he will have your warrior’s skill and your strength of spirit at his side in the hour of need. You are good for him, Legolas.”

I was very aware of the flush of colour in my face, and could only hope that the candle’s light was too dim to show it.

He rose from the bench. “Have I answered your question?” he asked. 

“You have. Thank you, lord Elrond.”

“Then perhaps we can return to our beds in peace?” He gestured towards the corridor which led to his chambers, and, indirectly, to mine; but not to Aragorn’s.

I stood and waved the book vaguely towards the shelves. “I shall replace this first.”

“Indeed.” His lips twitched again before he turned and left the library. I was suddenly quite sure that he realised I had no intention of returning to my own room, and that he knew exactly where my feet would lead me. For some reason, it did not worry me at all.


	10. Chapter 10

When I returned to the bedroom, I saw that Aragorn’s eyes were open. He said nothing as I slid under the covers beside him, but his face held the question. I kissed his forehead.

“My mind was troubled by dreams, and I walked a while to find peace,” I told him. I could not lie to him, yet I did not wish to offer him the whole truth.

“The thought of our parting troubles me greatly, too.” He sighed, and held me close. “We can avoid speaking of it no longer. What are we going to do?”

I stroked the side of his face. “What can we do? You will go with Mithrandir, and face your perils as you must, and I will return to Mirkwood, to fight the evils of Dol Guldur. Our friendship will remain in our hearts.”

“I will come to you when I can. And send messages, through Rivendell. Will you visit me here when I next return?”

“If I can.” Once again I tried to reassure him, in spite of my own misgivings. “Do not be too downhearted. I have sworn my friendship to you, and I feel certain that there is still much for us to see and do together.”

His next words shocked me.

“I would pledge more than my friendship.” He spoke quietly, and the look he gave seemed to burn me. 

“But we cannot.” I spoke without thinking.

“Why not? Is this not love?” So it was named, at last.

“No other word would serve for my feelings for you, Aragorn.”

“And I love you, Legolas. You know it.”

“Yes.”

“So why…? Is it because I am mortal?”

I felt six thousand years old at that moment.

“I believe that you know why, Aragorn. And it has nothing to do with your mortality, which is part of you, and therefore beloved by me. But what future would there be for such a love between us? Your destiny is among men, and men could never accept this.”

“A curse on my destiny. A curse on men. I have lived long alone. Who is to know or care how I choose to give my love?” His eyes strayed from mine as he said this, and stared over my shoulder. He spoke bravely, but it was clear that he was avoiding the truth. 

“Aragorn, I dreamed of you last night. You stood before me in the raiment of kings, and I knew in my heart that that the vision was a true one. I understand now where your destiny lies. Please do not pretend to me.”

“So you know.” His tone was sorrowful. “Yet it can not stop me loving you.” 

“Nor I, you. So when we meet again I will still love you. And the bond of friendship will hold, even if I do not share your bed again.”

“Don’t say that. We can still...”

I kissed him then, and held his face between my hands. “Aragorn, my love, these memories may be sweet but they will be behind you. Your heart must be free. The King of Men will need a queen, not an elf-prince lover at his side.”

He managed a weak smile. “Not even if that elf prince is the most beautiful and valiant creature in Middle Earth?”

We held each other for a while, and I stroked his back, whispering soothing words to him. I realised that he was sobbing quietly. My own eyes were full of tears. 

Eventually he moved away from me slightly and rolled onto his back. Listless eyes stared at the ceiling.

“Speak to me,” I said, wiping the tears from his face with the back of my hand.

“I am afraid, Legolas.” His voice was low and toneless. “Afraid of what I must do, what I must become. Afraid of my weakness. I have no desire for the power of kings. There are times when I can not believe that I am strong enough to do this. The last few days I had started to feel some hope – hope that with you beside me I could be strong enough; but without you, how can I...?”

The moment was so still, I felt that every word I spoke was somehow invested with enormous importance. 

“Aragorn. I believe that in the end you will find your strength. The weakness of the old kings was always in their pride; your humility will only be an asset to you. You are an easy man to love and you will not be alone when the day comes. I will not be the only one to pledge that I will fight to the last at your side. And such strength as I have, I will willingly share with you. You will prevail. Hope will not fail you.”

We lay together, talking quietly until the dawn arrived, and with a final, passionate but tearful, kiss, I left his bed and returned to my own room.

Aragorn and Mithrandir left early that day, but I lingered until the afternoon. After they had gone, I sought out the old plane tree and sat there for several hours, seeking the solace of the forest once more. It could not dispel my sadness completely, but after a time I felt strengthened, and returned to the house for the last time. 

Elrond embraced me warmly as I left. His words were quiet, for my ears alone. 

“Have courage, Legolas. You have both wisdom and strength in your heart. There is much of this tale still to be told.”

I could find no suitable words in reply, but knew that he read my thoughts in my eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

The enchantment of Rivendell had not diminished, though many of its saplings had grown to mature trees since my last visit. I sought out the bench at the river’s edge, as I might an old friend, on the night of my arrival. Resting there, I could hear the sounds of the feast carried across the waters from the great hall in the crisp autumnal air. Most probably Elrond had discerned the true reason for my absence from the meal, although I had made my excuses as graciously as I could. In reality, I needed to rest after my journey, to find my strength, before facing the sight of Aragorn and Arwen together. 

Forty years is a long time to the minds of men, who do not have the luxury of eternity in which to nurse their wounds. To me the time had seemed both long and short: long because I spent the days without him, short since my memories were yet so vivid. I had in that time learned to conceal my sense of loss, and to carry on with life as I had before. Happiness had not deserted me completely, but in spite of the lack of promises made, my soul refused to turn away from him.

It was I who pushed Aragorn away, told him his heart should be free, when he would have pledged it to me. I should have been happy when he did as I said, and bound it to another. But only four years after our parting… that is a short spell, by the standards of any race. And such an ‘other’ he had chosen. I had not met Arwen, but if the reports were true, I knew her to be wise and powerful, kind and fair beyond measure. He had chosen a partner worthy of all that I saw in him. One day she would sit at his side as a queen, both great and good.

It was as it should be.

Should I have been pleased when he came so swiftly to Mirkwood to tell me what had passed? Was it the action of a friend, taking the other’s words at face value, and hurrying to share his good news? Or was his motive more cruel, punishing me for rejecting his offer of love? I did not wish to think it of him. Perhaps some lingering sense of guilt had driven him to me at such speed.

I did not tell him of my feelings of hurt and loss, of course, nor did I let him close enough to sense them. I told him that I was glad, that his happiness brought me joy, and that I remained his brother to the end. This was not untrue, it was simply less than the half of it. 

During that first visit, I wondered if I could keep my promise of eternal friendship, so rashly made before I knew what loving him would be. I cursed myself for ever having rejected him, and resented him for the apparent ease with which he had left me behind. But whatever my faults, bitterness is not in my nature, and the next time he came to Mirkwood, I found that I was able to welcome Aragorn as a friend. My lingering love and hurt I kept to myself.

At least on this occasion he did not catch me unaware. I called a greeting to him as he stepped off the bridge and tried to suppress the lurch in my stomach as he smiled in answer. 

“Legolas. It is good to see you.”

“Even though I bear ill tidings?”

He settled beside me. If he remembered what had passed between us here, he gave no sign of it. 

“Whatever the tidings. You do not blame yourself, surely? I understood that you were not even at the palace when the creature escaped.” So Elrond had told him the whole story.

“No, I spend little time there of late – our borders are too hard pressed. These are dark days indeed. Still, I am ashamed for my people that we could not sustain the task entrusted to us.”

“Yet Gollum’s escape has brought you here now? A happy coincidence, if coincidence it is. I would have asked Elrond to summon you to the council tomorrow, had there been time.”

I searched his face for enlightenment, but he seemed unwilling to say more of such matters. So we spoke a little of events of the past year, since last he came to Mirkwood, dragging Gollum behind him.

A burst of song came to us from the house, reminding me of the feast, which was obviously drawing to a close there. The guests would be moving into the hall for singing and story telling.

“What keeps you from Elrond’s table?” he asked, seemingly struck by the same thought.

“I could ask you the same.” I evaded the question.

“I was at the stables, speaking to the twins – they have just returned from orc hunting and I wanted to hear their news. I saw you heading this way.”

“And I was seeking refreshment for my soul before feeding my body – the journey here wearied me, I will admit.”

“Are you not hungry now? I ate earlier, and should show my face in the hall before long, but I think you will find my brothers in the kitchen, if you wish for something.”

As soon as he said this, I realised that I was ready to eat, so I nodded, and we rose from the bench together.

“Will you join us in the hall later?” he asked.

I hoped that he had not seen discomfort in my face. “Perhaps. If not, I shall see you in the morning.”

We bade each other goodnight and I headed for the kitchens.  
Elladan and Elrohir were indeed sitting at the long table, with several plates of food and a large carafe of wine before them. They leapt up in unison as I entered and we greeted each other fondly. Elrohir found a glass and plate for me and I happily joined them at their meal, trading stories of orc hunts and gossip of the two kingdoms as we ate. It was hard to believe that more than forty years had passed since we had last eaten together. 

The twins present a daunting front to those who do not know them. I myself had found them intimidating when first we met during my childhood. They are so alike, and yet unlike any other; neither man nor elf, the strength and vitality of the one blended with the grace and wisdom of the other. Fair of face, sure in speech, deadly in battle and bound in a fierce destiny; it is small wonder that they choose to give little away, when the eyes of elves and men are constantly upon them.

Yet once I came to them as a trusted friend of their foster brother, I found to my amazement two warm and generous souls, each of whom I soon grew to love for himself. Elrohir, ever able to make me laugh with his clever wit; Elladan, always sensitive to my mood and ready with unobtrusive words of advice; both brothers a source of untold comfort and support to me, throughout these long years.

On that evening their company lightened my heart, and for a while at least I did not think of Aragorn.

Eventually the plates were emptied and we sat back, replete, and warmed by the wine. 

“Shall we join the others in the hall?” Elladan asked.

“Mmm – come with us, Legolas?” Elrohir turned to me.

I started to excuse myself, but found I was riveted between two identical grey-eyed stares.

“It might be better –” Elladan said gently,

“You will have to face it sometime –” this from Elrohir

I looked from one to the other in disbelief.

“Estel and Arwen together.” Elladan finished.

“What are...” I tried to feign ignorance.

“Legolas. We knew. We know. About you and Estel.”

“How? Did he tell you?” There was no point denying it.

Elladan laughed. “No! He has not said a word. But we saw you – in the forest.”

“Even if we had not, I think it would have been obvious.”

“You were so ridiculously happy, and trying to avoid each other’s eyes all through the meals –”

My head in my hands, I closed my eyes and groaned. “I thought we were discreet. Who else knows?”

“Not much happens here without father’s knowledge; and I should imagine Gilraen must have realised, but she kept her counsel, as did he. Nobody has spoken of it,” Elrohir reassured me.

His twin continued, “In any case, Legolas, that is of no consequence to us now. Our concern this night is for you; it is clear that you still feel as strongly for him.”

“Why worry about me? Aragorn is –”

“Betrothed to our sister, of course, and it is right and good. But you were happy together then, and now you are hurt, and we care about you.” Elladan put his arm around my shoulder as he said this.

The sweet words and gesture comforted me, but I struggled to find something to say. Elrohir saved me the trouble.

“Come with us now, Legolas. We will sit together in the corner, and you need not speak to them tonight; but your absence will be noted if you do not at least make an appearance.”

So I found myself entering the Hall of Fire behind Elladan, keeping my eyes on his back and thankful that the musicians held the attention of all the guests. True to his word he led me to a couch away from the fire, almost in darkness, and there we sat, one brother either side of me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of them. Once settled, I raised my eyes. Of course they were drawn unerringly to Arwen and Aragorn, on the far side of the large room. 

I could not take my gaze from her. Still and solemn she sat, fair beyond my imagining, glowing with an ethereal light like star-shine, echoed by her fine silver robes. Beside her Aragorn appeared tall and noble, ageless and wise. They needed no crowns, no ceremonial clothing, no thrones to make them what they were: a royal couple, serene and strong. 

How could I ever have presumed to love him? At least in that moment I knew that I had been right to end our dalliance while it was young; for surely it was clear that his destiny would always have led him to her, and my heart to destruction in the process. 

I felt myself tense in body and mind as I struggled to control my sorrow. Without turning their eyes from the musicians, both brothers responded at once, Elladan placing a discreet hand on my shoulder, Elrohir placing his on my arm. Grateful for their affection, I relaxed my mind, and allowed their love and concern to touch me. So we sat, and I shut my eyes and concentrated on the music, letting it soothe me until the song ended. 

As the final note died away I looked again, and found Aragorn staring at me, a quizzical smile on his lips. As our eyes met, he inclined his head slightly, and I shifted myself upright on the couch, watching as he leaned across to Arwen to speak gently into her ear. 

She turned, and looked at me. A long slow look, breaking into a smile which seemed to shatter the ice around my heart. I held her gaze for an endless moment, and the noise of the room seemed to fade. She did not speak to me, not in words, but I could feel the presence of her in my head – a gentle, warm, welcome, unobtrusive and soon politely withdrawn, leaving me conscious only of the more tangible presence of her brothers and their reassuring touch. 

An elf stepped into the firelight and began to recite, and the moment ended. Arwen turned her attention to him, and I dropped my eyes again, filled with sudden confusion. Her smile, her welcome, had been gracious and genuine, and I would be churlish, were I not touched by them. 

I heard not a word of the elf’s poem as I sat there. My mind was full of one question, that which occupies the mind of past lovers of every race, I am sure. What had he told her of me, that had caused her to regard me so?


	12. Chapter 12

After the council I followed Aragorn to his chambers, knowing I had to speak to him immediately. He answered my knock promptly, almost as if he had been expecting me, and gestured me into the sitting area. 

I did not sit.

“Aragorn, I am so sorry.” I did not need to elaborate.

He let out a short and bitter laugh. “I sometimes wonder which of us is the elf, Legolas, when it comes to matters of self control.”

His harsh words stung me, and I looked at the floor. He must have relented, for he added, “In truth, it is not a problem; he would have had to be told, before we set off on this mission.”

“But it was not my place to tell him, particularly not in such a fashion, and again, I am sorry.”

There was a long pause, during which I collected myself. I stood up straight but turned to the window to avoid his eye. Thus I did not see the expression on his face as he said, in a soft voice, “I suppose I should be happy, that you are still prepared to leap to my defence.”

My body tensed. What was he implying? I turned to him, but now he was looking away. Trying to convince myself that the comment was meaningless, I hurriedly redirected the conversation. “Do you trust him?”

Our eyes met, neutral territory having been gained. 

“I think so,” he replied slowly. “He is tempted, but so shall we all be. At least he has stated his case, and now he has given his word. I know the men of Gondor; he will not break his oath.”

“Yet he resents you so.” 

“Perhaps in the course of this desperate quest he may come to love me more. He has little reason to trust me, as yet.”

I conceded this point as fair. With unspoken agreement we now sat down, and talked quietly for a while. I was most curious about the halflings and had many questions for him; his stories of their exploits made me smile, even as his description of the black riders chilled me to the heart. Knowledge of the enormity of our task seemed to hang between us, and I wondered briefly how my fate had drawn me into this. 

He read my pensive gaze. “It is an unthinkable plan. There is no shame in wishing it had not come to this.”

I looked at him, a long look. “If you are committed to this deed, Aragorn, then I would only wish to be at your side. I, too, keep my word, as I think you know.” I stood as I said this, but smiled to soften the implied accusation.

“Aye.” He also stood, and stepped towards me. “Now is the time for true friends to hold together. My heart cannot be light, but knowing that you and Mithrandir are with us will keep the dread at bay.”

Another long look, in the course of which my heartbeat quickened, and then we stepped into an embrace, a chaste, soldierly affair of hands on shoulders, but it was enough.

I did not aim to touch his spirit, but perhaps I should have tried harder not to do so. For the connection was still there, and knowledge of him surged through me once again. I pulled away quickly, but the damage was done, and he knew it. 

How could it be, that he loved and desired me still, even now?

“Aragorn, I...”

He cut me off with an angry gesture, avoiding my eyes. I did not need to see his to know the guilt and pain written there. “Legolas, I’m sorry.” It was barely more than a whisper. “Just leave it, please.”

He turned, and walked towards his bedchamber, leaving me no option but to depart, my mind a mass of confusion and panic.

********************

Two hours in the forest had not made me any happier, but at least I knew what I had to do. 

I sought Elrond, and was lucky to find him in his study, with only Mithrandir for company. Apologising for the intrusion, I asked him to send for me when they were finished, as I wished to speak with him. However the Istari rose, and with a narrow look at me, said, “No, stay, Legolas. We are finished here, and I must speak to Frodo.” 

He glanced at Elrond, who widened his eyes then nodded slightly, while I wondered what unspoken thought passed between them. Then Mithrandir left the room and I faced Elrond alone.

His tone was kind. “You are troubled, Legolas. Sit down and tell me… perhaps I can be of some help.”

I sat down across the desk from him and swallowed hard. I could think of no other way to approach the issue, so I came straight to the point.

“Lord Elrond, I am sorry for this, but I must speak. Having considered it fully, I do not believe that I should be part of the fellowship, and I ask you to find another to take my place.”

An eyebrow raised – the closest I had ever seen him come to an expression of surprise. But his voice was kind. 

“I would have thought that you would be happy to have your wish fulfilled. For surely this is the final stand, and if Aragorn returns, the whole of the West will know that he is no mere ranger.”

“You judge me right, my lord; I wish with all my heart to accompany him and the halflings on this quest. But it is too important a task to be jeopardised by the selfish whims of an individual. It is not for myself that I ask to be released, but for the good of the fellowship.”

“Will you explain yourself?”

This part of the interview I had rehearsed in detail. I spoke carefully. “My lord, look at me. I am the third prince of the wood elves. My life has been spent wandering the paths of Mirkwood with little thought to the world outside its borders. I have little wisdom or lore, and none of the power of the Eldar. If one elf only is to travel with the fellowship, it should not be me. There are dozens in your house who have knowledge and skill far beyond me, and who would serve the cause far better. You must see that.”

A sad smile came to Elrond’s face, and he sighed. “I see more than you guess, I think. I agree that there are many more powerful elves here in my house. And I would send none of them on this mission, for fear that they would betray it.”

I stared at him, puzzled.

“Legolas, did the ring speak to you, during the council?”

I replied slowly, “I heard it, and it troubled me greatly.”

“Yes, but did it speak – to you? Did it call you by name, and talk to you of the wishes of your heart?”

I shook my head. 

“There will come a day when it will do so, I have no doubt,” he went on. “But let me tell you something. The ring spoke to me. It spoke to me of power and wisdom beyond my hopes. Its lure was strong, and would be stronger than me, if I were to let it stay here in Rivendell. The powerful and the wise are easy targets for the ring, for the quest for power and wisdom is well understood by its maker. Those who feel envy, greed, or resentment, or seek revenge for past wrongs, it will readily pull into its sway. Why do you think the hobbits have held this thing for eighty years, yet have not fallen to its power?”

“Because they are a simple people?” I suggested.

“Simple in their aspirations, maybe, yet strong in spirit. Do not be offended, Legolas, if I say that you are like them in many ways. You have wisdom, but it is not the lore of ancient deeds and prophecies, rather the wisdom of the Earth itself; and the dark lord knows little of this. Your spirit is strong, and your heart and soul are pure. You have little love for the material wealth of your father’s kingdom; you seek always the simple peace of nature. What could the ring offer you?”

I had hoped to avoid speaking so directly of my feelings for Aragorn, but it seemed I had no choice. Of course, Elrond would have drawn it out of me one way or another. Gazing intently at my hands, where they lay clasped on the desk in front of me, I said, “Perhaps my heart is not so pure. I too have desires...”

“Aye, and if I had any doubts of that, you dispelled them for me this morning.” 

I felt myself flush as I recalled my ill-advised outburst at the council. But when I looked up and met Elrond’s eyes, I saw that he was smiling, a small, warm smile. 

“Ask yourself. Do you love him, or are you merely suffering the pangs of unfulfilled desire?”

“How can you ask?” My anger was quick and thoughtless. “I love him – without limit – I would bind myself to him today if it were possible.”

“Then I see nothing impure in it,” he said gently, and my anger left me. “And I doubt if there is much the ring can do with feelings such as yours. It is a difficult path for you, to love and know that your love can not be returned in full, but I do not believe that is what you are afraid of. He needs you, you know, and not just for your eyes and ears and skill with the bow. Your love and friendship will bring great strength to him, even as they bring you sorrow. Are you strong enough to accept this?”

“I am. But...” I had to force myself to say the words. “It is not myself I fear for.”

He waited. How could I tell him that the man betrothed to his daughter had feelings for another? I searched for words, and found none. Eventually Elrond took pity on me and reached across the desk, placing a hand gently on mine. He waited a moment, giving me the chance to withdraw, but I did not move. I closed my eyes and felt tears forming, as he softly touched my mind. I breathed deeply, letting him in, feeling the relief of a burden shared without the need for speech. From him I sensed only warmth, concern and comfort.

The moment passed and he sat back, breaking the contact. We remained in silence for a while, but at length he spoke.

“I understand,” he said. “A man’s heart is far more complex than that of an elf. I do not believe that what he feels for you in any way diminishes his love for my daughter; and it may prove a strength to him yet. But he fears weakness in himself, and may see it as such, for the ring to exploit. But still I think it is a risk we must take.”

I stared at him openly now, unable to speak.

“Have you wondered, Legolas, how you came to arrive in Rivendell at the precise moment when the council was called? Why did Gloin and Gimli, or Boromir, for that matter, choose this time to appear, seeking counsel? I have never been so certain that there is a hand greater than ours at work here. This task is allotted to you, and you alone of the elves; you must bear it as well as you can. Let your feelings give strength and purpose to your acts. The ring must go to Mordor, but I think you know that will not be the whole of it. Aragorn must prevail, if peace is to be found for Middle Earth; and desperate times may indeed call for desperate measures. Do what must be done and feel no guilt, for there is too much at stake here.”

My face must have betrayed some confusion at these last words, for he added, “If the time comes, you will understand what I mean.” A pause, then, “Will you go with the fellowship, Legolas? Will you accept this task?”

“I will, my lord, though my heart is still heavy.”

We rose, and he embraced me with his healer’s hands, and for a moment I felt at peace.

********************

I retired early that evening, having no mind for feasting and song. I first spent a while with Bilbo, telling him the latest news of Mirkwood and passing on to him my father’s letter and gifts. He was fond of the old hobbit, and held a great deal of respect for him. I remembered this as we spoke a little of the fellowship’s quest; the thought of the four merry youngsters setting out innocently for Mordor was enough to break my heart, but perhaps there was a strength there that I had yet to see.

Back in my room, I prepared my pack for the following day, as I was to set out with the scouting party towards Mirkwood. I had mixed feelings about this; part of me longed to set off with Aragorn to the West, while another part was thoroughly relieved that I had a valid excuse to avoid him for a while, at least until I had ordered my thoughts a little.

I bathed and combed my hair, then pulled on my nightshirt, deciding on the bed rather than the forest as the night was restlessly windy. Shortly after I had settled myself there was a knock at the door. My heart lurched, as I immediately thought of Aragorn, although I had not been aware of his footsteps. I was wrong; at the door stood a young elf in the simple garb of a servant. He bowed to me, and delivered his message: “The lady Arwen apologises for the intrusion, but she wishes to speak with you in the library.”

I was speechless, and stared at him for a moment.

“Prince Legolas...?” His voice was tentative and concerned.

“Please tell the lady that I shall be with her in a few minutes.” 

He bowed again and scurried off.

I slammed the door in my haste and looked around for something to wear, avoiding the question in my head. I had no fine robes with me, so I pulled on my hunting clothes, which lay laundered and ready for the morning. It seemed fitting, somehow; and I muttered under my breath, “Thus the little wood elf prepares to meet the great queen.” I braided my hair behind my ears, staring at myself in the mirror, and willing myself to be calm. I had no idea what she might want to say to me.

Arwen stood alone in the library, and turned towards me as I entered, although I was sure I had not made a sound. Needless to say, she was radiant, in a fine white gown. She smiled her overwhelming smile and extended a long, pale hand. 

“Prince Legolas. Thank you for coming so quickly. I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

I took her hand briefly and bowed. “My lady. It is my pleasure.” Somehow I kept my voice level.

“I had hoped to meet you yesterday, but it seems that my brothers reached you first.” Her smile took on a less solemn aspect. “They think very highly of you,” she added graciously, then gestured towards two small chairs.

“As I do of them,” I replied, settling myself opposite her.

“Forgive me if I do not waste your time with pleasantries,” she said, holding my gaze steadily. “You are wondering why I have requested your company, and you must rise early in the morning.”

No reply seemed to be expected of me, so I gave none.

“I wished to talk to you about the quest and to ask of you a great favour.” she began. “I sense that your part in this expedition is troubling you, and it may be that I can ease your anxiety a little.”

A thought dawned on me.

“My lady, did lord Elrond ask you…?”

She laughed, a beautiful melodious sound. “No, indeed. I asked him about your conversation, when Mithrandir told me you had gone to see him with consternation written in your face. My father would tell me nothing, which of course told me a great deal.”

I could well believe that not a man alive, elf or mortal, could hold a secret from her.

“I think I can guess the source of your disquiet, Legolas.”

My face was burning, as I stared at the floor to avoid her kind but knowing eyes.

“He is easy to love,” she continued softly. “I could not blame you for it.”

I found my voice. “Did he speak to you of me?” 

“He did not need to. When we met in Lorien, the pain of parting from you was raw in him, and a part of him feels it still. I wondered how you could have rejected him. Eventually we talked of it, and I understood. If you had not been so right in your judgement, I like to think that I would have released his heart and encouraged him to return to you.”

I was amazed. How could she sit so calmly, speaking of her fiancé this way? Finding the courage to look up at her, I saw that she was smiling sadly at me. 

“You wonder why I am not jealous, how I can speak so openly of this?”

“Indeed I do not understand it, my lady.”

She sighed. “I have waited centuries for him, and I wait still. I am no young maid, in the first flush of infatuation; I have had time to learn both patience and compassion.

“I grant you, it would be easier for me if his affections were undivided. But his feelings for you are part of him. I can not change him, so I must love him as he is. I can not resent you for this. You should know, therefore, that your love for him neither deceives nor dishonours me.

“In the end, it will not change the way of things. If he fails, and I yet live, I will take ship with my father to the West. If he prevails I shall sit at his side as queen in Gondor. This I know. It is our destiny, written for us before we were born.”

“I know it too,” I said, and paused before continuing, “I thank you for your kind words. And... you mentioned a favour you would ask?”

“Yes. Legolas, Aragorn is strong and wise, and in battle he will lead with valour. Yet in the quiet moments self doubt will assail him, for he has not the pride of the kings of old. It is an irony, for the very qualities that will lead men to love him, to follow him and to die willingly at his side, may also lead him to despair. I can not see clearly, but I feel that the fellowship will face many paths, and I say to you: whatever happens to your quest, go with him, Legolas. Stay beside him and watch over him. When the darkness threatens him, go to him, even when his fear prevents him from turning to you. Give him strength, when I can not. I do not ask this for myself alone; for even if the ring is destroyed, evil has spread far in these lands, and peace will not be found until there is a true king in Gondor.”

I met her eyes then, and thought I saw the glint of tears there. My resolve strengthened, and I wondered how it could be that only hours ago I had asked Elrond to release me from my task.

“My lady,” I said, “You do not ask of me more than I have already pledged to do, many years ago. I will stand at his side until he comes into his own, or perish beside him, if needs be, in the attempt. What support I can offer him, I will freely give, even as we strive for a victory that will tear him away from me. It is a bitter fate, but I will accept no other.”

“There will be loss for each of us, no matter what the outcome,” she said sadly. “For in gaining him, I must lose all else that is dearest to me.”

It took me a moment. “You have chosen the doom of Lúthien.”

“I have. I shall look upon my mortal death, knowing that I have broken my father’s heart. Yet I too would accept no other fate.”

We gazed at each other for a while. I, at least, was overwhelmed by a sudden sense of grief.

“Such is the love he inspires,” she said quietly and smiled softly, and the grief began to fade. “I am glad we have spoken, Legolas, and I hope I have eased your burden, not added to it.”

“You have strengthened my will and soothed my heart, my lady, and for this I thank you. Do not doubt that I will keep my word.” 

“I doubt it not.” She stood, and I did likewise.

“My thoughts will be with you,” she said, and suddenly stepped closer. Her hands on my shoulders, she reached up and kissed me softly on the forehead. 

“I think I begin to understand the enigma of his heart a little better,” she said. “Farewell, Legolas.”

I bowed, finding myself, yet again, at a complete loss for words.


	13. Chapter 13

Gimli was waiting at the foot of the ladder when I descended from the great Talan, worry written large on his face. 

He clasped my arm, and burst out, “She gave you counsel?”

“Aye, though she offered little comfort,” I replied softly, taking his arm and steering him rapidly away from the impassive, yet ever alert, Galadhrim at the foot of the huge mallorn tree.

When we reached a more private clearing, we sat together on a fallen trunk. He studied my face for a while in silence. 

“Well?” he grunted, finally.

“She can do little, although whether from inability or from unwillingness to contravene fate, I cannot tell. She is steeped in it, Gimli.”

“Are there no potions, no spells?” he asked, impatiently.

“She says, and rightly, I am sure, that it would be too much of a risk. If his consciousness were to be wholly submerged, it may be that the will of the ring would take hold completely, despite our efforts. And she is not prepared to fight the ring so directly herself. I think her own power makes her too visible, too susceptible to the Eye.”

“So it falls to us, then,” he said sadly.

“To me, Gimli.” I met his gaze squarely, willing him to challenge me. He said nothing. “But promise me that if I fail, you will stay with the hobbits and carry on the quest with them? I think Galadriel would hold Aragorn back, at least, if the worst came to pass.”

“If I am to promise, at least in return tell me what this desperate plan of yours entails!” He sounded angry, but I knew he was only trying to disguise his anxiety.

“Desperate is right,” I rejoined, trying to delay telling him all. “These are desperate times, indeed.” The thought of Elrond’s words, spoken so recently, yet a lifetime ago, gave me some small strength. 

My friend deserved the truth, after all.

“I shall lure him into letting me approach him. Once he believes himself to be in total control, I shall slip past his defences and join my spirit to his. Together we may then eradicate the ring’s influence from his mind.” I said this evenly, hoping that I sounded confident, at least.

There was a long pause as the dwarf stared at me, thinking about my words. Then it seemed that understanding dawned on him, reflected clearly in his features. In different circumstances, it would have been comical.

“You intend to... seduce him.”

I gazed at my hands, unwilling to meet his eyes. 

“How can you even contemplate such a thing?” He was angry now, spitting the words out. “Have you no...”

“No what? Would you have me feel shame?” I responded incautiously. “Speak not to me of shame, for choosing to do what I must.”

“I thought rather to say, ‘Have you no wit’!” he shouted. “This is madness, Legolas.”

“Gimli, you and I – and Frodo - have tried everything to get past his guard: reason, anger, tears, entreaties. I have tried to touch his mind when he sleeps, but even then the blockade around it is impregnable. He is so strong, even though he has forgotten the fact himself. If we can not force our way past the barrier, he must be made to drop it for us.”

“And how do you know he will...” he broke off, mouth still open, as I stared at him. 

“He will, Gimli. Do not ask me to explain.”

“If he is as far gone as we think, he could hurt you badly, or worse.” Chief amongst his qualities is Gimli’s ability to state the truth unflinchingly.

“If I do not succeed, he may well do so... afterwards. But I am sure that the desire to control and humiliate is just too strong for him to let this opportunity pass.”

“How can you speak of such an... outrage... so calmly, as if it meant nothing to you?”

“If there is no other way to help him, then I am afraid I have no choice. I am thrice sworn to protect him, with my own death if needs be.”

“Thrice?” he asked

“Aye. I have sworn to him, to Elrond... and to Arwen. You see why I must do this.”

An uncomfortable silence fell on us at the mention of Arwen’s name. Again I remembered her words about going to him and giving him strength, and wondered once more if she could possibly have known where this would lead. I found it hard to believe; and in spite of Galadriel’s words, I remained unconvinced. However, I was not eager to tell the dwarf as much.

“Gimli, every time you go into battle you accept that you could be stepping up to your death. This is not so different. Besides, it is not just about me and him. The one thing that has been made abundantly clear to me, by all the wise ones, is the fact that the fate of Middle Earth is somehow in Aragorn’s hands. If I must die saving him, so be it.”

“I like it not.” An uncommon understatement from the dwarf.

“No more do I, Gimli. But what else can I do?”

Neither of us spoke for a while, and we avoided each other’s eyes. Then, placing a surprisingly gentle hand on my forearm, Gimli turned to me. “Tell me, Legolas, how long is it since you and he were lovers?”

I stared at him, at the depths of sympathy in his normally unreadable eyes. There was no point in trying to keep the truth from him. I had already learned that his heart was as sturdy as his frame; he would keep my secret.

“Over forty years, yet the sweet pain of memory is as fresh as if it were only a week ago.”

He nodded, and said slowly, “And I doubt not that he loves you still, in those parts of his heart yet his own.” 

********************

He was right. 

I thought back to the growing contentment I had felt, as Aragorn and I had lapsed once again into the friendship of comrades in arms, the memory of the difficult interviews in Rivendell seemingly put aside. I recalled how, as the journey progressed, he had become easier and more affectionate in my company; a casual hand on my shoulder, a few private words shared, a silent companionable watch taken together. Then had come the moment in Moria when he had leaped the chasm to land in my arms. No guilt or pain had been present in that briefest of embraces, only relief, gratitude, joy and love. Even in the dread fear of our flight my heart had sung.

The joy had rapidly turned to despair as Mithrandir followed the Balrog into the fiery pit.

At first it had seemed that Aragorn was simply grieving harder than the rest of us, and covering it with a cold, soldierly attitude in front of the company. This was understandable; he had been closer to Mithrandir than any of us, and the two had journeyed into peril together many times. I soon suspected that something was seriously wrong, however, when he pushed away my attempts to talk to him with deliberately hurtful spite. 

Frodo, ever sensitive, had noticed, and tried to console me. “He is hurt too badly, and lashing out at you because you are closest to him,” he had said, but he could not hide the anxiety in his voice.

When Aragorn started speaking cruelly to the hobbits I became convinced that he was in danger himself. I had no fear for Frodo, at least while we stayed in Lórien; in her own realm, the Lady’s protection of him was absolute. Aragorn could not take the ring, but it was surely taking him, eating away at his spirit from the inside, feeding on his guilt and fear. 

I had sought him out one last time, intending to force him to talk about it, but his response had been vicious.

“Do not speak of comfort!” he had hissed at me. “You seek only to satisfy your base urges by tempting me into depravity, like a wanton whore.” He had swung a hand at me, a glancing blow which would have done more than make my ears ring if I had not caught his wrist, and in the moment of still disbelief than came after I heard it with certainty – the voice of the ring, speaking through him to my insecurity. “I never loved you. How could I? You were nothing but a pretty plaything... Hardly worthy of a king, unless perhaps as his harlot.”

I turned and ran from him, before I could hear more. His sick, bitter laugh followed me, and I knew that it would haunt me for many weeks to come.

Gimli had found me later that afternoon, and in his gruff, straightforward way, he had saved me from the descent into self loathing. 

“What are we going to do?” he had asked, simply. “It has such a hold on him, we should knock him out and leave without him, yet still I am afraid that in his absence our quest will fail.”

Relief stole through me as I shared my fears with the dwarf. Yet in that moment I knew that the only means of saving Aragorn would entail an enormous sacrifice on my part.

********************

Now my friend called me back to the present. “Does she know of your plan?” he enquired.

“She does. I could not conceal it from her, although I tried.” 

\- Forget your shame- she had spoken in my mind. - In my many years, I have seen much.– 

“And does she approve?”

“That is hardly the word. Yet she seems to agree that it is my lot, somehow.”

\- I had thought to offer you the mirror, but I see there is no need. You know what you must do. -

“And what of you, Legolas? By doing this, even if you survive, exactly what are you bringing upon yourself?”

“Pain, of course. Physical pain – I do not fear it, and I shall recover from that. And an eternity of being bound to one who cannot return my love. In truth, how can that be different from my current state? My heart is already his, and that pain has been my companion these last forty years.” 

I spoke these words lightly, but with no real conviction. If I had doubted that my unhappiness and yearning would be magnified tenfold once my spirit bound to his, Galadriel had made it clear for me.

“But will you not... Become...”

“Mortal? She tells me I will not. It seems that fate is reserved for a chosen few. I hardly think this will qualify as a suitably romantic tryst.” I was not completely convinced of it, but in all honesty, at that moment mortality did not seem to be such a curse.

The dwarf sighed. “There is no other way? She is sure?” 

I nodded.

“Then I fear for you, my friend.”

“And so you should. But rather give me your promise that you will not fail the others, if I should fail you in this.”

He took my hand then, and squeezed it shyly between his. “I promise. But I do not believe that you could possibly fail me, Legolas. Just know that if he hurts you and we have to abandon him, the Lady will not need to use restraints after I finish with him.”

“Do not say that!” I said. “It is not his fault, and you know I love him still.”

But the dwarf’s words gave me comfort, and I managed a small smile.


	14. Chapter 14

The sound of Gimli’s voice, regaling the hobbits with a dwarven-tale of dragons and gold, faded behind me as I followed Aragorn into the forest. I paused for a moment, listening to my friend, bravely distracting the company when he desperately wanted to be at my side. We had discussed it several times. 

“At least let me stay within earshot in case you need help,” he had begged, but I would not agree. 

“I have to do this alone, and take that risk,” I had told him. Privately, I did not doubt that there would be shouting of some sort before the afternoon was over, and I had no intention of letting the dwarf’s well-meaning intervention at the wrong moment ruin my scheme. So I had caught Gimli’s eye and slipped from the group alone, noting only his slight nod and the brief flicker of pain evident on his face.

I found Aragorn in a small clearing, practising with his sword. Having approached as silently as I could, I allowed myself a second simply watching, admiring his grace and strength as he ran through a series of familiar moves. The feeling of love and sorrow rose in my chest as I recalled our happier days. Struggling to suppress the sorrow and concentrate on the love, I walked towards him, deliberately making enough noise to be sure that he heard me.

He did not turn, or stop his swordplay, but simply said, “I have no wish for your company.” There was no malice in his voice, rather a sense of weary resignation.

I stepped into the clearing and leaned against a tree.

“Will you not talk to me?” I said softly, trying to fill my voice with warmth.

He turned then and jabbed his sword towards me angrily. “Will you not give up? Have I not made it plain to you that I have no desire to hear your honeyed words?”

I had his eyes held to mine now, and used the fact to my advantage. Shifting against the tree into a relaxed, but slightly suggestive posture, I ran a hand over my hair, following the line of my braid, remembering briefly how Aragorn had once loved to undo my plaits and comb the hair out. As I had hoped, his gaze followed my hand.

“I only wish to offer you some comfort, my lord,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Is there nothing I can do for you to ease the pain of your heart?”

My hand now toyed with the topmost clasp of my tunic, and it seemed that the intensity of his stare might burn through my skin to the breastbone. For a moment I thought he might give in to the lust clearly visible in his eyes, but I was to have no such easy victory. He shook his head, and broke the spell. 

“Damn you!” he spat out. “There is nothing you can offer me. Get out of my sight!” He turned away and strode to the other side of the clearing. 

I drew the elven sword of the Galadhrim. “Then shall we fight?” I asked him, in the calmest tone I could muster. 

He spun round and watched me feigning confidence, testing the blade and peering along it as if to admire its craftsmanship. Once I was sure I had his attention I smirked at him. “Gimli and I have found it to be a most... enjoyable... way to relieve our tensions.”

His angry snort told me I had picked the right words. “Gimli and you? You have lowered your sights indeed, to consort with the dwarf!”

I made a brief mental apology to my friend, and smiled in the face of Aragorn’s jealous fury. “I simply do what I must to remain content. Perhaps you should follow the same principle.”

He stared at me, eyes full of anger.

“Shall we fight?” I asked again, as lightly as I could.

“Aye, we shall,” he said slowly, walking back into the centre of the clearing, his eyes not leaving mine as he took up the swordsman’s waiting stance. “But expect no quarter from me.”

“Have I ever done so?” I said airily, knowing that my levity only infuriated him more.

I stepped up to him, and we fought.

I knew I was hopelessly outclassed, of course. Aragorn was the more powerful, and the sword was his first choice of weapon. He wielded Anduril as if it was an extension of his arm, with familiarity and ease. I had only a borrowed blade and my speed and agility to pit against his greater skill. It was obvious that he would win, and my plan depended on the fact. However, he would not experience the rush of energy that comes from battle - and so often spills over into simple lust - if it was an easy victory, over in moments. I had to fight, and fight well. 

Luckily, Aragorn’s emotional tension seemed to have dulled the edge of his skills. His movements were weighty; not exactly clumsy, but not quite as controlled as they would normally be. Whilst this went some way towards improving my chances, I soon realised that one heavy-handed blow of his could easily wound me badly - or worse - either by accident or design.

At this realisation something in me changed and I found myself fighting in earnest. My focus narrowed, and my blood began to sing in my ears, as it always does in the heat of battle. I ducked and parried, smiling as I leapt beyond his reach. My strength seemed to increase, even as I sensed his frustration building. Strange as it might appear, I found I was enjoying the contest, and could not hold back a triumphant laugh as I knocked his blade aside. 

Aragorn, eyes blazing, increased the tempo of his assault. We had been fighting for several minutes now, and we were both breathing fast. I might have judged it to be enough, but it would have made no difference to the outcome. He would have had me backed against the tree trunk, my blade spinning off to the side, with or without my covert consent.

I stood with the sword tip at my throat and gave what I hoped was a defiant smile. “And so I yield, my lord.”

“”Not yet,” he growled, and his eyes narrowed as the sword pressed a little harder. His gaze moved down from my face, to the blood he must have drawn. 

“Take off your clothes.”

In spite of all my planning I found I had neither words nor strategy to aid me in that moment. I kept my eyes on his face, and did as he commanded. He watched, the hunger evident in his eyes and the sword no more than an inch from my neck, as I undressed, then pushed me back against the tree again and ran his gaze down my body.

“You are aroused.”

This fact was already painfully known to me. In spite of the peril I was in, I could not help but respond to him. He was Aragorn, and magnificent, and I had longed to stand before him thus.

“I wonder, do you expect satisfaction from me?” His voice was dangerously quiet.

“I merely defer to your wishes, lord.” 

“Not yet,” he said again, and a slow smile crossed his face. “I think I shall give you another chance. Pick up your sword, and do not try to run.”

This was something I had not accounted for, and I had to swallow hard to suppress a burst of panic. However, I had little option but to comply, so I edged towards the fallen blade, keeping my eyes on him. I moved as slowly as I could, trying to buy time in which to calm myself, but to no avail. 

It was a short contest, and in truth he merely played with me, for I was at too great a disadvantage. I struggled to concentrate and to put up something of a fight, at least. But I could not ignore my overwhelming sense of vulnerability, which seemed only to increase the intensity of my arousal and my physical discomfort. Aragorn seemed strangely calm, and totally in control now, his eyes hard as they held mine, even as he fought. 

Before long, my sword fell again, with Aragorn at my side, Anduril against my neck. 

“On your knees,” was all he said. I breathed deeply and tried to slow my pulse, which was racing with anxiety. – You wanted this – I told myself, forcing myself to calm as I knelt on the grass.

He stood behind me, and I heard him drop his sword to the ground. A wave of relief passed through me. In spite of my assumed confidence before Gimli, I had not been certain until this moment that he would not put it to more serious use. 

His hands on my shoulders gripped hard, and sent bolts of fire speeding through my veins. 

“No,” he growled. “Expect no satisfaction from me. But I shall have mine. How shall I take you, elf? Face down on the ground where you belong, or on your back so I may see the pain in your eyes?”

There was nothing I could say, so I remained silent. He made his decision, pushed me forward, and kicked my knees apart. 

I had made myself ready for this moment as well as I could, with numbing ointment begged from Galadriel’s healer. In the five days Aragorn and I had spent as lovers, this was the one act of pleasure we had denied ourselves, since we had both known what it would signify and were not ready to take such a step. So I had expected pain on this first occasion, but in my innocence, nothing could have prepared me for the reality of it.

The sharpness of his breath as he pushed against me told me of his own discomfort, but he was not to be denied, and slowly but firmly, he entered me. I struggled to overcome my instinct to fight against the terrible intrusion, as his hands grasped my parted flesh and I felt he would tear me apart. It was not only the pain; the sense of being invaded, the loss of control was terrifying. It took everything I had learned about my own body to force myself to relax, to unclench the muscles desperately trying to refuse him access to my core. Fortunately he had paused, perhaps trying to lessen his own pain, and in those few seconds I stilled myself.

The urge to detach even further, to disengage my mind from my body’s experience, was strong; but I knew I had to fight that too if I was to stay with him and make the connection I was seeking. So I gritted my teeth and breathed deeply as he began to move inside me. Every stroke was dangerous agony, but I did not give him the satisfaction of hearing me respond. His breathing was laboured, and before long he was making guttural, incomprehensible sounds. I strove to contact his spirit then, but could feel nothing but his lust, anger and guilt; he still would not let me in. It occurred to me, even through the haze of pain in my mind, that I needed to see his face. 

I took a deep breath, exhaled, and forced my body to go quite limp. As I had intended, this infuriated him. He did not want silent resignation from me. 

“Damn you!” he yelled again, and pulled away from me suddenly, causing stars of pain to burst behind my eyelids. 

He wasted no time in turning me over, hauling my thighs up until my legs rested on his shoulders, and invading me again. 

It was still unbelievably painful, but there was a difference to the sensation now. My back pressed into the grass, and my fingers at my sides scrabbled into the soil. I drew some strength from the contact, and the pain seemed to lessen. Then, as he pushed deeper, forcing my knees further down towards my chest, the unimaginable happened. I began to know the first inkling of pleasure, and shifted my hips to increase it. I gripped his arms with my hands, and stared into his eyes. He was clearly reaching the point where his control would be lost; and something approaching panic was visible in his face. 

My arousal was building fast, but I could not let it distract me. All my consciousness was directed to him as he pounded his body against mine, forcing his anguish and his self-hatred into me with every thrust. I responded the only way I could: with love. At every point where our flesh made contact he must have felt it, and it maddened him more, but I was not to be stopped now. My skin was humming, my head full of him and my love for him, and the feeling of triumph grew in my heart even as the agonising delight washed through me. He was helpless now, reaching his peak with wide eyes and shouts of pleasure, or maybe despair. 

One of my hands released his arm and moved to my cock as I clenched every muscle in my body, in spite of the pain. For a long moment I held him there, and felt the heat, the hardness of him inside me, and I knew that he was mine. I released him and then clenched again, and it was too much for him. The spasms claimed him even as my own orgasm began, and in that instant I looked in his eyes and with every fibre of my being I sang my love to him. 

When it was over, he clung to me, and shivered in my arms. I saw sorrow in his eyes, but he made no sound. 

Finally, I rolled him to his side, and moving against him, I kissed him gently and felt his defences crumble. 

“Legolas,” he said in a broken whisper, and the tears fell at last. I held him as he wept, long and deep, and reflected that this was the first time I had heard him utter my name since we had entered these woods. I stroked his hair soothingly and at length his sobs subsided, but after a while he pushed himself away and sat, looking at me with horror.

“What have I done? What have I done to you?” he blurted out. “How could I... I have taken from you...”

His cries of self loathing should have stirred me to pity, but in that moment something inside me seemed to break. I drew myself up to my knees, and looked down at him, rage suddenly flaring up in me. Perhaps I could have controlled it; perhaps I knew that it was better not to do so. 

“Aragorn!” I was amazed at the command in my own voice. “That is enough.”

He stared at me, silent and open-mouthed, in shock. Small surprise, since I had given him no cause to know my anger until now.

“You have done nothing, you have taken nothing, except by my will. Do you really think I would let you have me by force? Has the ring blinded you so much that you have become a complete fool?”

He closed his mouth, then opened it again. “Legolas, I -”

“Be silent, and hear me. It is time that you stopped wallowing in self pity. For too long now you have tried to take the pain and the guilt of the whole of Middle Earth on to your shoulders. You were destroying yourself, even without Sauron’s help. But I will not let you take responsibility for what has happened here. I chose to bind myself to you, and you did exactly as I wished, and I will hear no protest, for this is not just about you and me.”

I realised that I was shouting, and paused. He was still speechless. I placed my hands on his shoulders and said, more calmly, “We could not afford to lose you. Any of us.”

He had the sense to keep silent then, although I knew that he was struggling to comprehend the enormity of the situation: my spirit bound to his for all eternity. I found that I could read his thoughts with considerable clarity, and knew that when I spoke to him silently, he would feel my words.

\- It was not a difficult decision, Aragorn. You have long had my love. –

The face he showed me then was beseeching, and I pitied him at last. I put my arms around him and kissed him deeply, drawing the fear and guilt from him and replacing them with love and desire. He shuddered in my arms, but said softly, “I can never forgive myself for causing you such pain, Legolas.”

“I will forget the pain, my love, but not the pleasure,” I told him. 

His gaze burned me. “How can I...?”

“Shhh, and I will show you.”

With that, I pushed him to the ground and undressed him quickly. He said not a word, but his eyes never strayed from mine as he lifted his back, then his hips, to help me remove his clothes. He was already half erect, and I paused to bring him to hardness in my hands, before kneeling between his legs and pulling his hips up towards me. I had no salve, no oil to ease the pain, so I licked my fingers before using them to open him to me. He groaned, but I knew he could offer me no resistance now. 

I took him slowly at first, and then hard; and I saw the tears in his eyes and the amazement as the pain turned to pleasure. He moaned, and amongst the incoherent sounds I heard my name, repeated again and again as I stroked his cock in rhythm with my thrusting hips. At the last his eyes focussed on me and through them I saw his soul; and as I took him to the edge with me he cried, “I am yours, Legolas!” and I was undone.

********************

It was late night before we dressed and picked up our swords, ready to return to our companions. As I fastened the last clasp on my tunic he put his arms around me and held me tightly.

“Legolas, I love you, but I do not know what happens next.” 

I understood. “Leave it, Aragorn. Let us not try to solve the problems of the world tonight. Let us simply have this, and find some peace.” 

He nodded, defeated at last by his own weariness, but he would not let me leave his arms without saying, “I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am. Can you ever truly forgive me?”

“Can you not feel it in my embrace?” I responded. “And do not apologise; even you are not strong enough to fight the ring’s power alone. What you did, you did under its influence. If this is the worst it makes you do, we shall survive.”

He accepted that, and kissed me, before taking my hand and leading me back to the pavilion, where many tears of relief were shed.

I gave my heart, body and soul to Aragorn on that day, and my love will last for eternity. Since then I have held no secrets from him, except for one; and many years passed before we could speak the truth of it.

I knew the ring, knew its voice and the feel of it in his mind. And I knew with absolute certainty that there had been nothing of its presence in Aragorn that afternoon, and that all throughout, his mind had been wholly his own.


	15. Slave

He likes to play at letting me have the upper hand when we are together. It excites him greatly, as it does me. At first the memory of that terrible, wonderful afternoon made me reluctant to take the dominant part; but when I saw the rapture it brought him, my desire overcame my guilt. 

So when this mood takes us I throw him to the ground, trapping him beneath my weight as I claim him; or pin his wrists behind his head as my free hand roams his shuddering body. His flushed, breathless submission as my fingers push inside him would drive me mad with desire, were he not so skilled at bringing me my own release in turn. 

Once I tied his hands behind his back with his own belt, before ripping open his clothes to touch the skin revealed there. I knelt before him and felt the shaking of his legs as I teased him with my tongue. When I finally took his cock in my mouth I had to support his hips with both hands, and even then the fire coursing through him, and through him to me, threatened to topple us both to the ground. He came swiftly and hard, filling my mouth with his salt-sweetness; I stood then and kissed him, full and deep, that he might taste himself in me. But I did not linger, for I had other uses for his mouth. Pushing him down on his knees, I wound my fingers in sleek blond hair and held his head as he enveloped me in soft, wet heat. The sight of him, bound and willing, was too much for me. I spent myself so quickly, I could have been a boy of eighteen again.

He likes to play these games, but there can be no doubt who is really in control. I could do nothing to him without his consent, for he could bring me to my knees in delight - or indeed in despair – through the power of his thoughts alone. He does not abuse this mysterious connection between us, but he has made its extent known to me. This he did through action, not words, as is the way of an effective tutor.

In the silence of an early morning he brought me to my peak, with a single finger stroking the side of my neck the only physical contact between us. In my mind, he spoke to me of what he might do, were we alone behind four walls and a locked door. By the force of his will he prevented me from touching myself, though I desperately longed to do so. He held me there, in exquisite pain, and I felt his amusement and arousal ripple through me. When I felt I could bear it no longer, he ceased even that lightest of touches, moved to kneel before me as I sat transfixed, and rested, three feet away and staring into my eyes. The moment was long, and he held me still on the very brink of bliss until I knew my reason would desert me. At last he relented, and allowed my passion’s release, though he did not move, and my body remained untouched. I would have woken the company and the world beyond with my screams as I came, had he not finally closed the gap between us and covered my mouth with his. He held me in his arms afterwards, and in his smile I saw what it was that I should learn.

I could no more resist him than the shore can resist the tide. Indeed, it seems to me that his love is a force of nature in my life. It is useless to resist; and so I no longer attempt to do so. Thus, at last, my heart has found some peace. For I have abdicated control of it to him, and he will no longer allow me to indulge in guilt or fear.

My dreams have become much clearer to me of late. I will stand before a great company of men, and they will see in me a strong and noble leader. None will know that my soul is in the keeping of another, and that without him I would be as nothing. Yet when the moment comes I know full well that he will return my soul to me, and it will be safe and whole. For he is pure and good, and strong enough to do what is right, when I in my weakness would falter. 

I will not allow anxiety about Arwen to cloud my mind while there is yet work to do. By day I wear her jewel against my chest, but at night – for the time being – I carefully set it aside. She is dear to me still, but she belongs to another part of my life, one which I cannot reach without his spirit to strengthen me. And she, who sees the paths of destiny so clearly, would she not understand and accept? Indeed, as I bring the jewel to my lips before tucking it safely into my pack, I wonder if she has not already done so, long before I could.

For many years I scorned those men who sought to worship elves. That was before Legolas saved me from myself and redeemed my soul from the darkness. I doubt that such arrogance would find a place in my heart now. 

Long years ago in Rivendell he and I found sweet happiness together. When he comes to me now, he brings relentless love and raw, unfettered joy. It is terrifying and glorious, and I am helpless before it.

His may be the spirit which is bound to mine; but in truth it is I who am his slave.


	16. Chapter 16

In the instant when I realised that the dying orc spoke the truth, and that Aragorn had fallen from the cliff, I felt my world end. A mere moment later, however, a different realisation came to me; my spirit sang to his still, and I knew that he was alive. I peered down the rock face, looking for evidence of his fall, but saw no blood, no shreds of cloth from his garments, no body in the waters beneath. Either he had sunk without trace, which my spirit told me could not be so, or somehow he had hit the water breathing and disappeared downstream. It seemed impossible that a man could fall so far and yet live; but then, my lover was no ordinary man.

I scanned the cliff for footholds, and prepared to descend to him. Theoden’s sharp instruction stopped me in my tracks, and I whirled around, words of protest on my lips, for he held no authority over me. What I saw in his eyes, however, silenced me: fear and an unspoken plea. Glancing about me, I felt the despair of his men, and realised what it would mean if Gimli and I deserted them now. Yet still I could not find the will to leave Aragorn to his fate. In that moment of indecision, my hand closed around Arwen’s jewel and I shut my eyes... and felt it, a sudden rush of warmth, a wordless reassurance unlooked for. 

The words came from my heart, - Watch over him – and I do not know whether I prayed to Arwen, or to Elbereth herself. But my choice was made, and I followed the king. 

Gimli’s eyes were wild, but I hissed to him, “Fear not: he lives,” as I swung up onto the horse and turned him around sharply, veering to come alongside the riderless figure of Aragorn’s grey steed, Hasufel.

********************

The clamour of preparation for war sounded all about me, as I stood in the highest place in the citadel and waited for my lover’s return. I had watched from afar as Hasufel carried him across the great valley; and I knew that I could wait a little longer, for I had no wish to greet him at the gate with the mob all around us. He would be drawn to me, soon enough.

Our eyes met while he was yet fifty paces away, but I did not move, though each step was a great effort for him. I longed to rush to him, to enfold him in my arms, to carry him if needs be; but I would not. Before the curious eyes of the Rohirrim he walked towards me as a king of men, weary beyond measure but proud, his spirit and strength undiminished. 

With every step I sang to him of my love and joy at his return, though I uttered not a sound. When he finally stood before me, I saw the glitter in his eyes and spoke light words to him; the rush of feeling through the simple touch of hand on shoulder was enough to convey the truth. Silently, I placed the jewel in his palm, and felt his thanks and something more - something he was not yet ready to tell me.

“You sent Hasufel to me, did you not?” he asked me later, as I washed the dried blood from his wounds. He lay on a narrow pallet in the small chamber set aside for us. It had been difficult to persuade him to rest at all, for the men were arming now, and the battle drew close.

“Aye, I spoke to him,” I replied, delving in his pack for the healing ointment. “But I shall ever beg your forgiveness for not coming to you myself.”

“No, Legolas,” his voice was soft, “You did what was right.”

“At least I knew you were beyond immediate danger,” I told him, “and that your lady had you safe in her regard.”

He turned his head sharply to look me in the eye. “You knew?”

“I could not have left you, otherwise,” I said softly. “And still I will regret it always.”

“There is nothing to regret,” he said. “But how did you know she was with me? Did she speak to you?”

“No, there were no words, but I felt her presence clearly.” 

We were silent for a while, as my hands busied themselves with the care of his torn and bruised flesh. It was strange to speak of Arwen; since the day in Lórien when we had become lovers once more, we had avoided doing so. Eventually my curiosity overcame my discretion, and I asked, somewhat tentatively, “Does she speak to you often?”

“Not now, not since... sometimes, at night she does, nights when I am not with you.”

So she had to know – at least in outline – what had passed between us. Surely she had tried to reach him on some of those other nights, only to find his mind too full of another’s presence to let her in. Yet I had felt her warmth, even so. The generosity of her spirit astonished me.

I kept these thoughts to myself, and dressed his wounds without comment. But it seemed that he misunderstood the reason for my silence, for he whispered, “I am sorry.”

“Why? I have always known how it is between you, and it is well that she has you in her sight.”

“If I had been stronger, I could have spared you...”

“Spared me, or denied me, Aragorn? Would you have denied me this?”

I bent my head to kiss his neck, and caressed the hollow at the base of it with my lips and tongue. He shivered under my touch.

“Ah, Legolas,” he sighed, and his voice spoke of surrender, “You know full well that I could deny you nothing.”

The unmistakeable sound of Gimli’s footsteps in the corridor interrupted us, before my mouth had journeyed far down his chest. I sat up, and reached for Aragorn’s shirt. He was working on its fastenings when the dwarf’s head appeared around the door.

“I am sorry; the king demands to see you, Aragorn,” he said. “I held him off as long as I could.”

Aragorn sighed and rose stiffly from the bed. I stood beside him and could not prevent myself from smoothing his hair with my hand. 

“Best that you go alone,” I said to him, as he smiled at me tenderly.

“Aye. It will not be an easy meeting.”

Gimli and I watched as he strode down the corridor, shoulders squared back and head high. Even his posture these days spoke of his regal heritage. In spite of my pleasure at the sight of him, I could not suppress a melancholy sigh. 

-Thus he turns from me and walks towards his fate amongst his own.-

My lover was changing, as I should have foreseen, and I was finding it hard to bear.

********************

Sixteen days we spent in Lórien after that fateful afternoon. Sixteen days, and sixteen magical nights. For while the company slept, Aragorn and I lay together in secret glades or borrowed talans and explored our mutual passion to the full. I brought forty years of unwavering love to our coupling, while he, freed from guilt and doubt at last, allowed himself to learn the meaning of joy. 

It was with regret that we left the enchanted woods and turned our thoughts to the quest once more. As we journeyed, our times alone were brief snatched moments, yet I could not be unhappy; for he was ever in my sight and within my spirit’s knowledge. Even through the grief of Boromir’s death and our terrible anxiety over the Halflings, our union banished fear and lent us strength and courage. I began to understand my true purpose in the fellowship, as I realised that we could walk to the depths of Mordor itself with song in our hearts, as long as we were together. 

At first Aragorn was loathe to accept Gimli’s knowledge of our love, despite my reassurances. But the dwarf himself overcame my lover’s reluctance, when I could not. One evening I slipped from the others to join Aragorn, only to find Gimli there before me, the two deep in conversation. As I approached, Aragorn turned to me with shining eyes and wordlessly caught my hand, bringing it to his lips as our friend smiled his approval, and my heart filled with joy. 

From that day on, Gimli proved to be a most loyal and resourceful accomplice in ensuring our times together went unmarked and undisturbed. 

Once the fellowship dwindled to three, subterfuge was no longer needed, though we took care not to discomfort our friend. Exhausted as we were each evening, we did not seek privacy to indulge in physical pleasures; but when the dwarf’s turn came to take watch, he would sit with his back to us while Aragorn slept untroubled in my arms, and in spite of all that beset us I was happy. 

Between the three of us there developed in those days an unbreakable bond, as comrades, brothers, friends; our talk was frank and far-reaching and the trust between us absolute.

When we reached Edoras, the change was apparent at once. In the company of men, Aragorn became every inch the son of a king, confident and commanding. His gestures quickened, and he spoke ready words to them in their own harsh tongue. He seemed one of them, yet set apart by his obvious nobility. They would have followed him anywhere.

He did not distance himself from us, and still found time for a stolen glance or a hidden touch to reassure me of his love, but the signs were unavoidable. I could not deny the evidence before my eyes; Aragorn was coming into his own and the time was fast approaching when he would need me no longer.

********************

No doubt my fear of losing Aragorn coloured my speech when I shouted at him in the armoury. It seemed that the hopelessness of the ragged band of men mirrored that of my soul, doomed to my eternal, fruitless love. For one brief moment, I lost my faith.

At once I regretted my immoderate words, and was ashamed of my heart’s failing. 

When he replied, without a moment’s thought, “Then I shall die with them!” it was as a physical blow; the realisation that he would willingly choose the fate of his own kind, leaving me alone and desolate. For the first time I truly felt the gulf between us, elf and man, and I despaired.

There were no trees, no green havens where I could find some peace for my heart, so I did the best I could and sought the comfort of the stars. From the battlements I saw the sky to be obscured by clouds, but there also I found Gimli, who clearly sensed my pain and met it with gruff, insistent affection. Before long I found myself replying in kind to his teasing jests, and my spirits lifting once more. 

“This will be a desperate fight,” I said to him, “and who is to tell which of us shall survive it? Yet you comfort me, Gimli, my true friend, and bravest of comrades in battle.”

“Aye,” he said, “And as your true friend I say to you: go to him now, for you know not what the night shall bring.”

I smiled my thanks, and ran to find Aragorn. 

One look in his eyes told me no apology was needed, but still for my own sake I had to say it. My pledge to him renewed, I kissed him, and in the heat of his response I knew that things were right between us yet. I let my spirit touch his for a moment, to strengthen us both, then stood back and smiled at him, saying, “Let us go then, and fight with honour, and with love in our hearts.”

********************

 

While the battle raged, I did not feel the agony of the dying. 

In those momentary lulls when I could relax my concentration, I even jested with Gimli, as we tallied the enemies felled by our hands. When the fighting recommenced in earnest, no part of my mind was free to contemplate the reality of the carnage before us. Yet in a corner of my consciousness I was aware of Aragorn at all times, his spirit like a bright flame, burning, passionate, invincible. I felt no fear for his safety.

Once the combat ended and my heart had slowed to its usual pace, and when I knew that my lover and my friend were safe, I stood upon the wall and looked around me. I saw the dead, and felt the wrenching pain in my soul once more. I had seen the aftermath of war before; but to me it is a horror which becomes no easier with experience. As I gazed about me I saw amongst the bodies boys, mere children who had fallen in the desperate defence, and at the sight of their innocent faces contorted in death my grief overwhelmed me. 

I felt my legs buckle, and sank to my knees.

Before I had time to struggle to my feet again, he was there, crouching and cupping my face in his hands to look into my eyes. He knew what he saw, and offered me no platitudes. He simply raised me to my feet and supported me with a strong arm around my waist as he led me to the Hornburg, to the tiny chamber where I had tended his wounds the day before. Men approached us as we passed, but with a gesture or a word in their own language Aragorn sent them on their way. 

He sat me on the narrow bed before bolting the door behind us. Finally he sat at my side and held me, and I allowed my tears to fall. 

After some time, I ceased to weep, and simply sat with my head on his shoulder, feeling the tender concern in the touch of his hand as it stroked my hair. At last I turned my face to his, and he looked at me with compassion. 

“My love,” he whispered, “I would willingly give my life to spare you such grief.”

His kiss was soft and gentle, but my fingers soon linked behind his head, pulling him into me harder, as I sought to drown my sadness in the desire welling up in me. 

He knew what I needed, my sweet and sensitive lover, my strong and passionate man. Deft hands swiftly relieved me of my garments, and his own followed soon after. It was not long before I lay naked beneath him, shuddering as his hands explored every inch of my flesh. He bent to kiss me again, as his fingers traced patterns on my thighs, and his thumb gently brushed against my swelling cock. 

As he pulled his mouth away from mine, sitting back on his heels to reach for his healer’s pack, I opened my eyes and drank in the sight of him, muscled, scarred and battle-stained, yet utterly beautiful to me. 

“I want you, inside me,” I murmured, and saw his cock twitch in response to my words. 

He found what he was looking for, and opened the small bottle. The healing scent of rosemary filled the room as he rubbed the oil over his hands. 

He was gentle with me, at first, using his fingers to make me ready. Yet once he was fully inside me, I found myself wrapping my legs around him and clutching at his hips, urging him to move faster and deeper, to fill my body and mind with his love, to leave me no room for doubt and woe. He gave all I wanted, and held nothing back; taking me hard and biting his lip to stop himself shouting as he came, though his words of love resounded in my mind. My release came soon after in his hand, and my words were no less passionate.

We lay together then with no thought for the day outside, a few brief hours before we would ride once more into the turbulent world. As he slept a while I studied his face, and thought again of the changes I had seen in him of late. And I realised, in the warmth of that moment, that my fears had made me a fool. I should not wish him to be weak, that I might support him; how much better that he should come to me as my equal, with strength and joy and ardour to match my own.


	17. Chapter 17

We sat before the city walls, Aragorn, Gimli and I, and drew breath at last. The trampled ruins of the fields of Pelennor lay before us, and the dark shapes of men, seeking the wounded and collecting the dead, were visible in all directions. I raised my face to the sunset as we talked of those who had fallen; Aragorn suffered particularly at Halbarad’s death, and I placed a hand on his arm, the better to let him share his grief and feel my sympathy. Our eyes met, and I knew that my pain found its match in the sorrow of his heart.

Gimli stood, muttering something about tents and water. He laid his palm briefly on my shoulder, and, as considerate as ever, left us alone. We watched in silence as he strode towards the men of Minas Tirith where they came down through the city gates, bearing bundles and pitchers. Aragorn made as if to move, but I stilled him.

“Stay, my love. It is time you took some rest.”

He sank back to the ground with a small noise of agreement, and we sat silently for a while, love and understanding passing between us as my thumb discreetly stroked his wrist.

He pulled his arm away, however, as the white figure approached. 

I leapt to my feet. “Mithrandir!”

There was little time for fond greetings. Mithrandir spoke urgently to Aragorn and bade him find his healer’s herbs at once. The gravity of the situation was beyond doubt and the light in the istari’s eyes was grim. He looked quickly from Aragorn to me, saying, “I will await you at the gate,” and he was gone.

Aragorn had found his healer’s kit and was fastening the grey cloak of Lórien about his shoulders. 

“Shall I come with you?” I asked. 

“Nay, love. You should stay and rest. For too many nights you have watched over me as I slept.”

His voice was full of concern, and he spoke no more than the truth, but I could not avoid a flicker of disappointment. He must have noticed it, for his hand brushed mine.

“I do not wish to call attention to myself. Better that you stay here, for the eye of every man and woman in the city would surely be drawn to your beauty.”

He had the strength to tease me, even now. I would have devoured him, had the circumstances been different.

“Very well, I shall stay. But I would lie in your arms tonight.” 

His gaze was searing, and caused a shock of desire to pass through me. 

“I need it as much as you do, beloved. I will return to you.” With that he pulled the hood of his cloak over his face, and left.

Gimli had somehow organised two tents for us, and had them set up a little apart from the rest of the Dúnedain, with their entrances angled discreetly away from the others. He sat before them kindling a fire, and I saw that he had acquired both water and food.

“You are a marvel to me, my friend.” I waved an arm at the comforts of our camp.

“As you are constantly, to me,” he replied gently, and I was momentarily taken aback by the softness of his smile. “Where is Aragorn?”

I sat beside him as he busied himself with the fire, and explained the situation.

“Then you must make do with my company this evening,” he said.

“I can think of none better.” 

As it turned out Elladan and Elrohir joined us soon after, and we invited them to eat with us. Barely had we finished the meal, however, when a messenger arrived to call them to Aragorn’s side. Gimli and I were left to share our stories by the fire’s light; we remembered happier times and did not speak of the perils ahead.

Once my friend had settled to sleep and I could hear his snores clearly through the canvas, I took a bowl of water behind the tents and washed myself as well as I could. I found I had no heart to take to my bed in the tent I shared with the dwarf; neither was there any prospect of peace in walking around the city’s walls or the bloodstained fields. After a moment’s consideration I slipped into Aragorn’s tent and unrolled his bedding. Making a pillow of my cloak, I lay down and breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the man I loved. 

I let myself relax, and began to examine my thoughts for the first time since our desperate race through the paths of the Dead. So much had happened, so much had I seen, I would not have known where to begin. But the choice was not mine to make, for as soon as I let my mind drift I heard it again: the cry of the gulls, tearing at the very fabric of my soul.

********************

Time had stood still for me, there on the river bank at Pelargir. 

After four days and nights of hard riding, and the strange tension of our journey with the Dead, my mind had become focussed on a single purpose: following Aragorn to the end. Extraneous thoughts had been set aside and I had barely spoken, even to Gimli, for more than a day. But as soon as I heard that cursed, melancholy sound my concentration broke, and I could think of nothing except that of which they spoke; the sea.

It is hard to explain, this sudden desperate longing for something which I had never seen, and which had hardly crossed my mind before. I suppose that men and elves may yearn for love before they know its touch; the young may yearn for adventure, as I once did; those whose lives know only strife may yearn for peace. Yet this was such a strong and specific longing, almost physical in its nature, and it unsettled me to the core. I had never known a desire so powerful, except, of course, for one.

I stared at the canvas above me as I wondered how my soul could possibly bear the burden of two such aches. 

Aragorn’s power and strength were growing by the day, and I knew that the hour drew near; ere long he would claim his crown and I would have to free his heart once more. Even now, as he walked in the city, his absence troubled me deeply, the tension in my stomach a constant reminder of my need for him. I could only imagine the pain I would endure once he took his place at another’s side. And yet I had pledged myself to him for as long as his life should last, a pledge which would hold me to the pain in Middle Earth and thus prolong the agony of my yearning for the West.

This was no time for despair, I reflected, as I tried to still my mind. The irony of the situation did not escape me. I was caught between two opposing needs, and unable to find any peace even by choosing one at the expense of the other. And yet there was a greater irony still: here I lay worrying about my future pain when I knew that in all likelihood I should not live to taste it. For the battle that day had been won, but the war was yet to be fought; and I had no illusions about the full extent of Sauron’s might. 

In this thought I found an odd excuse for comfort, and, commending my soul to the inevitability of fate, I passed into dreams at last.

************************

I sensed his return and woke immediately. The light coming through the canvas spoke of dawn approaching.

A moment later he crept into the tent, and into my arms with a weary sigh. I kissed and held him, then settled him with his head on my chest while he told me briefly, in the softest of whispers, of Merry, Eowyn and Faramir, and of all that had passed in the city. 

I stroked his hair and smiled down at him. “So the people of Gondor recognise their true king? It is fitting. These last few days you have shown the full splendour of your spirit, my love, and it will never be hidden again. You shine like a beacon for all to see.”

“If that is so, it is only by your grace,” he replied gravely, and shifted himself so that he could draw me into a long, soft kiss.

“The end draws near,” he said, as we finally pulled apart.

I could only murmur my agreement. The end of the war, the end of our hallowed time together, the end of beauty in Middle Earth; I did not ask him what he meant, as I knew the question to be irrelevant.

We spoke a little of Frodo and Sam, and dared to share our fears, as he could with no other.

“My hope is still strong,” I told him, “For where Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel place their trust, I can only do likewise.”

“Aye, and Mithrandir too,” he agreed.

He told me then of the desperate plan they would put to the captains in the morning. I clutched him tightly, but spoke not of my fears.

“These are desperate times, Aragorn.” I smiled at the phrase, in spite of the context. “I know in my heart that you are right, and I shall be proud to stand beside you. But now, rest, and think no more of the morrow, for you are exhausted.”

“Yet my mind is still too busy for sleep; would that I had some means to calm it.” He sighed dramatically, and I was amazed to realise that he was tempting me, even at a time such as this. 

I could not fail him. I knelt astride his hips and bent to kiss him once more, but he held my head and buried his nose in my hair. 

“Ah, Legolas, you smell so sweet, and I am...”

“Shh,” I said, and captured his mouth with mine. It was true, his odour was strong, but it no longer repulsed me. If anything, it served to heighten my desire.

My fingers were practised now, and made short work of the fastenings of his clothes, my mouth following close behind. I kissed, licked and stroked my way down his chest, inflaming his body and driving all else from his mind. When I judged him to have forgotten his cares, I shifted down, and took him directly into my mouth. I would have lingered, for I so loved the taste and the sensation of his cock between my lips, but I could feel the desperate weariness beneath his arousal, and knew he would have little enough time to sleep. So I tuned my rhythm to his growing excitement, and stroked his thighs as I sucked and licked, and let him feel the fullness of my desire as I did so. It was not long before he arched his back and stifled a gasp as he pumped his seed into my mouth. I closed my eyes and savoured the taste of him before I swallowed.

As his tremors subsided into limp exhaustion, I saw his eyelids start to close, but he fought against it. 

“My love, I am so tired, I cannot... I am sorry.”

“No matter, it is better that you sleep now.”

“Please, let me watch you. Then I may find some peace.”

His eyes were fully open once more as I complied with his request. With the taste of him on my tongue, and the sight of his body laid out before me, I was already close to my peak. I licked my hands from palm to fingertip before grasping my cock with one, and caressing my balls with the other, as he loved to see me do. In truth I was too weary and too full of desire to attempt to control myself, and I came almost immediately, the fluid shooting in arcs across his muscular chest. 

He sighed. “It is the most beautiful thing, when I watch you.”

“Everything we do together is beautiful,” I replied, running my fingers across his flesh to scoop up the liquid there. I raised my hand to lick the digits clean, but he grabbed my wrist and held it fast. 

“I want to sleep with the taste of you in my mouth,” he said, and I shuddered as he sucked each finger carefully, slowly, then kissed the palm of my hand. 

My mouth soon followed in its path, and our tongues met, his flavour and mine mingling there. 

Soft words of love we whispered then, and I held him close. Seconds later he was asleep, his breathing gentle and regular. I lay still and simply watched his chest rise and fall, wondering at the strength of my love for him, and trying to ignore the ensnaring song of the sea-birds in my heart.


	18. Chapter 18

On the sixth day after the fall of Sauron I awoke from dreams of Rivendell, and knew beyond doubt that the moment had come.

There had been little time, in those days, for us to be together in private. My visits to Aragorn’s tent at night were fraught with the need for discretion in the midst of the busy camp; by day, he was amongst his own and the demands upon him were many. Scouts were returning from their sorties to the east, and groups of men were organised to pursue the last remnants of the enemy’s allies. When he was not dealing with these, or passing through the camp with the other healers, tending to the wounded and heart-sore, he often sat in discussion with the captains and princes, and the men of influence of Gondor and beyond. It would be long before such a gathering met again and the chance to establish a new net of diplomacy could not be ignored. 

I had watched from a distance as my lover became King in all but name, and my heart was full of pride and despair.

In the dawning of that sixth day, as I re-entered the conscious world, my mind crystallised around one clear thought.

\- It is time to let him go. – 

I left Gimli dreaming in the tent and stepped out into a cool, bright morning. My heart was pounding, and I felt that my body could barely contain my grief. Where could I turn for support in my pain? I crossed the dew-drenched grass as the sun rose above the mountains, and headed towards the wooded slopes behind the camp.

I walked slowly through the trees, aiming for the peace of the higher ground, making no attempt to order my clamorous thoughts. It was a while before I became aware that someone was following me. I knew it was not Aragorn, but the tread was too light for it to be another man; one of the hobbits, perhaps? I stood behind a tree, and waited. 

To my surprise, I caught a glimpse of a tall figure with long dark hair, and a moment later Elladan came into full view. I stepped forward, and called him by name.

“Legolas, good morning.” He smiled, but his face seemed troubled. “I am sorry to follow you, when you were clearly seeking solitude.”

“No matter, my friend. It is always good to see you.” I clasped his proffered hand in greeting, hoping that my inner turmoil was not too obvious. “Is there a problem in the camp?”

“No, no such thing,” he replied, and reached inside his tunic to produce a small pouch of soft green leather. “I came to give you this.”

I took the offering from his outstretched hand, wondering what gift could be so urgent. I did not open it, but sought his eyes first for explanation.

“Before we left Rivendell, my father gave this to me with instructions to pass it to you, in his words: ‘Afterwards, and when the time is right.’ I had no idea what he meant, but last night I dreamed of him, and I knew that I had to find you when I awoke.”

I shivered at these words, feeling the hand of fate plucking the threads of my life once more. 

A brief look in the pouch revealed a small brown bottle and a folded paper. I closed it again, suspecting that this may be a gift best opened in private. Raising my head, I saw that Elladan was giving me a long look, and that my own sorrow was reflected in the still grey depths of his eyes. I clutched Elrond’s gift tightly in my hand as if for support, and felt my face betray my feelings all too clearly. 

Elladan took a step closer and opened his arms to me without a word. In his firm embrace I felt myself surrounded by sympathy and understanding, and it was like the final wave that breaks the flood barrier. I abandoned my attempt at self control, laid my head on his shoulder, and allowed my tears to fall.

It seemed a very long time that I wept, and all the while he held me and stroked my back with gentle hands, and sang a quiet song of hope and courage to my spirit. 

When no more tears would come, and I felt that my heart was washed clean and empty, we simply stood, each in silent knowledge of the other. Eventually, I shifted my head and cleared my throat to speak. Before I could form the words, however, he raised a hand to smooth my hair, and with the other in the hollow of my back pulled me closer still, so close that I briefly doubted his motives. Yet the kiss he placed on my lips was chaste, and drawing back at last, his hands on my shoulders, he said:

“Do not forget, Legolas, that my brother and I love you as one of our own. We will always be there for you when you need us.”

“Thank you,” was all I could whisper, before he kissed me again and turned to leave.

I stood still and watched him head back down the slope towards the camp, confusion and disbelief in my mind. How could it be that in the midst of my grief, my body could have betrayed me so and answered his obvious arousal with my own? And why had my friend taken advantage of my vulnerability like that, pulling me in to him, that I might feel his hardness and he might know my shame?

My face burned as I thought of it, but not for long. A sudden gust of breeze rustled the leaves as Elladan turned and looked back up the slope at me. I saw his smile, and felt his spirit touch me for the briefest of instants, and in spite of everything, I smiled in return. For I knew then what he had been trying to tell me, that all was not lost; my soul might yearn for Aragorn for all eternity, but life would carry on, and need not be entirely without its pleasures.

I did not open Elrond’s gift until I had reached the place I sought, a peaceful, beautiful glade high under the sun, where the breeze was fresh and fragrant with herbs. The bottle had no label, so I opened the carefully folded note, and read the elegant script which could somehow only be his:

 

Legolas,

Your spirit is noble and strong, and your heart pure. You shall not know despair. Yet even the strongest suffer no shame in seeking the help of those who love them.

Two drops on the tongue will strengthen resolve and soothe the troubled heart.

May Elbereth bless you and keep you in her grace.

Elrond.

I folded the note again quickly and placed it back in the pouch, for I would not have my tears wash the ink away.

*******************

I caught Aragorn’s eye as we ate dinner with our companions that evening. He smiled at me, then held my gaze.

\- Tonight. - I told him.

Even across the fire I could see the heat of passion in his eyes.

\- Come to me in the woods when I call. –

He seemed to shift uncomfortably, then turned his attention back to Merry, who was telling an outrageous tale of his heroic forefathers.

After the meal I went to one of the more distant pools to bathe. I took my time, washing my hair with fragrant soap, and trimming the nails of my fingers and toes. Finally, dressed in clean tunic and leggings, I returned unseen to our tent. There I collected my pack: a large soft blanket, a bottle of almond oil and a flask of rich, heady wine. These I took to the edge of the forest, where I waited for silence to fall on the camp.

It was a fine, clear evening, full of stars. I gazed up at them in wonder, and thought back to that first starlit night when I had sat in the oak tree dreaming of adventures at Aragorn’s side. Could anyone have foretold where my youthful hopes might lead? The warm calm of the afternoon still suffused my mind, and I had a sudden insight. However painful parting from him may be, I could not regret anything that had passed, and should count myself lucky to have known such love. I would not give in to bitterness.

********************

I had spent many hours that day amongst the wise old cedars of Ithilien, letting the twin magics of the forest and Elrond’s remedy do their work. The grief had not vanished, of course; I did not need to recall Galadriel’s words to know that it never would. But its raw edge was, for the moment, dulled, and I no longer felt myself to be a desperate individual at the centre of a storm of pain. Instead I knew my place once more as a small part of the greater consciousness of the Earth, my needs and sorrow insignificant in the face of creation. 

At the moment when my meditations reached their fullness, as I lay in the cradle of the forest under the golden sun of late afternoon, a strange thing had happened. Two gulls, far from their home, swooped down over the glade and circled there, calling to me once more of the wide oceans and the West. Yet this time their song brought me little pain, and a great realisation stole across my mind. 

When Galadriel had spoken to me through Mithrandir of the sea longing, I had thought her words a warning. I saw now that she had offered me hope, a hope which might burn in the waiting, but ultimately offered me a reason to continue. For I must lose Aragorn. First his physical love, but at some point the very light of his presence in Middle Earth would be taken from me; and how should I then remain to live out my endless days in grief? My yearning for the sea would sustain me, carry me through the years, and once his story was told, I would follow my heart to the West. I watched the gulls, and for the first time my curses turned to blessings, even as my tears fell.

********************

Few voices were audible in the camp, and in spite of the bright moonlight, a man who knew how to move stealthily would not be noticed. I called to him, and lingered in the shadow of the trees.

He arrived promptly, and I knew that he had been waiting for my summons. I took his hand without comment, and led him through the forest along the path I had followed earlier in the day. We walked for some time, but when we stepped out into the glade, I knew he would understand why I had chosen it. The moon lit the open space brightly, and the magic of the ancient trees seemed to hang in the thyme-scented air. We were far enough from the camp to know that we had privacy, and the nearby waterfall would mask the sounds of our passion.

I pulled him into the clearing, and turned to face him. He looked long, holding me at arm’s length.

“Gods, Legolas,” he said at last, “Your beauty could break my heart.”

He too had made an effort for this night. He had bathed and dressed in clean clothes, and his beard and hair were trimmed. I would have loved him no less had he come to me covered in the filth of battle, but I was pleased to think that I would remember him this way.

I placed the pack on the ground and walked into his arms at last. We kissed for an age, bodies pressed together, tongues breaking away to wander down necks, hands in hair, on shoulders, running down each others’ backs. Much that I feared to say to him was said in that embrace, and finally he held my face in his hands, pulling back far enough to look into my eyes.

“This is the last time, is it not?” he asked me gently.

“Yes, Aragorn.” 

We held each other close, and could not look at each other for a while.

There was a catch in his voice as he said, without conviction, “Does it have to be so soon?”

“You know it, my love. Arwen will come to you before the summer is over. You cannot leap from my bed into hers, and we both need time to prepare. For I would stand at your side as you take your vows, and wish you joy with all of my heart.”

“Oh Legolas,” he whispered into the side of my neck, and his breath was hot. “I have never deserved you.”

“Do not say that, my heart. It has been my choice, my joy, my honour to love you, and I shall love you still, even though our circumstances change.”

I broke away from him, and went to unroll the blanket on the ground. He joined me there, and we lay side by side, facing each other, our hands entwined. Desire would come later, but this moment was too precious to rush. 

“In Lórien, on that day,” he started, and I moved to interrupt, for I did not wish him to mar the night with his guilt.

“No, love, let me speak of it; I need to do so. On that day I tried to humiliate you, and you only shone more brightly. I tried to punish you for my own faults, and you somehow took it all and turned it into love. If I lived for eternity at your side, I could never love you enough for what you have done for me.”

“Then I think you do not know what you have given me in return, nor how much joy your love brings me.”

“Will you show me, tonight?”

“Yes, Aragorn, I will.”

We lay a little longer, caressing each other gently, almost hesitant to proceed. At last he asked me, “Would you undress for me? I wish to look upon your beauty tonight.” 

How different this courteous request was from the commanding growl he had so often used to arouse me. Perhaps we had no need of such games now.

I stood and did as he requested, slowly, lingering on every clasp and tie, revelling in the heat and awe in his gaze. By the time I stood before him naked I was completely hard, as I knew he would be, yet I did not want to rush into his embrace. Instead, I moved to the centre of the clearing and lifted my face and arms to the moon. The song seemed to come through me, not from me, and its melody was strange and wild, yet sweet. I had not heard it before, but I knew that every note would stay with me for ever, for it told of our love.

As I finished, I felt his arms wrap around me from behind, and his lips and tongue on my neck. He pressed me against his body, and the feel of his clothes against my nakedness excited me. His hands, rough and hot, ran across my flesh with a firm touch that only inflamed me further. I clutched back at his hips as his fingers found my nipples … and stayed there, rubbing, pinching and rolling the flesh until I became boneless with pleasure, and my head fell back to his shoulder. He continued the delicious torture as he whispered to me, telling me of the first time he had found me singing at the river’s edge, and how he had seen me so in his mind as he pleasured himself on many a lonely night. This image was enough to finish me. He did not move his hands from my chest, nor did I attempt to touch myself, but as his tongue traced the length of my ear I came nonetheless, balancing on the edge for an agonising time, then falling quickly, as the silver fluid fell to the woodland floor. 

It seemed fitting, somehow; an offering to the forest. I smiled as the trees rustled their approval, although there was no wind.

I turned to him then, and placed my hands on his chest. 

“It is my turn now. I would look upon your beauty.”

I removed his clothes with care, taking my time over those parts of his body which were usually less noticed. I knew that I was trying to memorise it all by touch, as I had already done by sight, but I had no wish to dwell on the implications of the fact. When finally he stood before me naked, I walked around him slowly, caressing him with lips here, fingertips there, before stopping behind him to take in the loveliness of his sculpted form. I trailed my lips from neck to waist, sinking to my knees behind him, and played a while with the delicate hair in the hollow at the base of his spine. I spent some time massaging the firm muscles of his buttocks, listening to his soft groans of pleasure, before I parted them with my hands to allow access for my mouth. 

A shudder ran through him and he groaned, loudly, as my tongue swept down the flesh and pushed inside. 

“Let me kneel, before I fall,” he said, raggedly.

I stood, and led him to the blanket, where he willingly knelt for me, and writhed as my tongue opened and explored him. I was already growing hard again at the sight of his beauty and the completeness of his surrender, and it was not long before I reached for the oil. 

I was not gentle with him, I will admit. I wanted to ride him hard, to fill him completely, so that he should feel me in the rush of his blood, in the air swirling in his lungs, in every particle of his being. If this was to be the last time, let him remember it well. Having already spent my first pleasure I could make the second last, and this I did; thrusting deep into him as my fingernails dragged down his beautiful back, and he shouted out, begging me to finish it before the terrible ecstasy killed him. I reached below him then and stroked him hard, holding myself back until he was ready and we came, crying out together, before collapsing to the ground. 

A little later, as we held each other close, he said, “I am ashamed of my selfishness, but I do not know how I will live without this.”

I sensed that he wanted to say more, but found it difficult, so I allowed myself to touch his thoughts a little.

“She will move you in ways you cannot imagine, Aragorn,” I said gently, for I understood his fear. “You need have no anxiety about that.”

Arwen had spent most of her young life in Lórien. If Aragorn was not aware of the fearsome reputation of the elves of that realm in the lore and arts of love, I would not be the one to tell him. Let him discover it first hand in the bed of his queen. Much as the thought might have pleased me in the darker reaches of my soul, I did not imagine that he would spend his nights with her yearning for my touch. 

“But what about you, Legolas? Must you spend an eternity alone? I shudder at the thought that I will hurt you so.”

We had avoided talking about this, at my insistence, before now. I had little reassurance to offer him, for in truth I did not know the answer myself. Elves have died for loss of a loved one; it is said that others have gone on to know love again, although the first bond remains the strongest, and the grief does not disappear. I had no wish to speculate with him now, so I took another direction.

“I have sources of strength denied to you, my love; I will live with the hurt. Do not try to blame yourself again. Do you forget that I am here of my own choosing?”

“And after this summer, what will you do?” 

“You know I must return to my father’s kingdom, and I cannot foresee what duties will await me there. Yet when he gives me leave, I will keep my promise to you, and return to these fair woods; for there is work that needs to be done here to restore them to their glory. As for Gondor – such a lifeless city is not fit for a king of Lúthien’s line; you need gardens, and who better to build them than the elves of the wood?”

“It soothes my heart to know that you will return, and that I may see you, even if I may not hold you close again.”

“It may be some time before I return, you do realise that?”

“Aye, and perhaps that will be for the best.”

I knew he was right; he and Arwen would need time to establish themselves before I saw him again. However understanding she might be, she would not welcome my presence at the start, I was sure. It was strange to speak of her now. By implicit agreement, we had not done so before, not since Helm’s Deep, at least. 

“She will know, will she not?” he asked.

“Can you doubt that she knows already?” he had to face this, before he faced her. “I think she knew it was likely, before we even left Rivendell, and has already accepted the fact. Do not go to her wracked with guilt, Aragorn. It will do neither of you any good.”

Our talk turned to other matters then, and before long the talking led to touches and more. The night was long, and we had no plans for sleep.

********************

In the last hour of the night, I sang once more, as he came inside me while I sat astride his hips, our arms wrapped around each other and our eyes locked together. Our spirits met then and I understood that I had experienced the last perfect moment of union with him, and that it would be with me always. 

There were tears afterwards, and pledges of love and loyalty, but we both knew that this part of our journey was finally over.

I cannot describe how difficult it was to let him go when he finally left my arms and set off back to the camp, nor the scale of my anguish as I watched him depart. It would be pointless to try; I know of no words in any language that could convey the depths of my sorrow. There was nothing I could do but embrace it.

I lay face down on the earth beneath the great cedars, and immersed my grieving spirit in the enchanted stillness of the forest.


	19. Truth

I do not know what lies before me, for the world is changing fast, and I have no gift of foresight; yet of this one thing I am sure. Even though I may outlive all my forefathers, I shall remember that night in every detail until the end of my days. And when I lie upon my death-bed at the last, I shall shut my eyes; and I shall see him standing in the moonlight and hear his haunting song once more.

When he took my hand and led me through the forest, prickles of unease ran down my spine. The trees were too still, the air too heavy for such a clear spring night. It seemed that some enchantment was afoot, something ancient and strange; yet as I turned my mind to it, I sensed no menace around me. I thought to ask him of it, but he walked with such quiet purpose I was loathe to break the silence.

Once we reached the clearing and he stood before me in the bright light of the moon, I felt my breath leave my lungs as if for the last time, and my body ached as I looked upon his beauty. His skin glowed softly golden in contrast to the silver-blue silk he wore, his tunic fitting closely enough to emphasise the elegant form beneath. His long slim legs were tightly encased in a darker fabric and his delicate feet were bare. Pale hair fell loose about his shoulders, framing the perfection of his face, which spoke as clearly to me of love and anguish as if he had said the words aloud. His pain came as no surprise to me, as I had known from the moment he took my hand that this night together would be our last.

If I had thought he was beautiful then, I could find no words to do justice to the sight of his glorious body once it was revealed naked and aroused before me. He stood with his face turned up to the moon, his arms raised and his hair flowing down his back. After all that I have seen and done in these long hard years, I had come to believe that I was beyond astonishment. As I beheld him there I realised that I was naught but a fool to think it. Had I the good fortune to spend a thousand years at his side, he would never cease to amaze me, or to fill my heart with awe.

He began to sing, and at once I knew what it was that the forest had been waiting for. A shiver ran through me and my breath caught in my throat, as his voice pierced the heady night air. The silence around us seemed to deepen as he sang, and I could well believe the trees were leaning in close to hear him better. I knew I saw him then for what he truly was: a magical creature of the earth, part of some greater spirit which I, in my clumsy humanity, could never know.

His song had no words that I could discern, yet I knew he sang of our love, passionate and sweet, perilous and fair. The melody was disturbing, familiar yet strange, by turns both frenzied and serene. I hear it still, and will do so all my life, yet I could not sing a single note of it aloud. 

How did it come to be, this love between us? How could it be that a spirit so strong and luminous should bind itself to that of a mere mortal, weak and imperfect, filled with guilt and uncertainty? I have always known that I did not deserve his devotion, yet I could never doubt its depth and intensity; for since the day he bound himself to me, my soul has been filled with the knowledge of it.

Am I the luckiest of men, to have known such a love, to have walked in his light when all about me darkness threatened? Or am I the most miserable of wretches, to have touched such beauty, only to have it torn from me for the sake of destiny, duty and a promise made? For I am certain now that the rumours I have long heard in my heart are no more than the truth. I have made my decision and will keep to it, for I am the heir of Elendil, my father’s son and not least a man of my word; but I can no longer deny what it is that holds me to my choice. 

I may strive every day of my life to bring her happiness, but I know I will never love Arwen as I love Legolas; and were I a free man, my life would be spent at his side.


	20. Chapter 20

Dinner was a sombre affair, that last night in Edoras. 

As soon as the meal was over, Aragorn excused himself from the company and left the great hall, leaving the rest of us making forced conversation, with even the hobbits struggling to provide some merriment. At length a minstrel was called upon. Seemingly sensing that a light-hearted air would be inappropriate and songs of doomed love too pertinent, he chose to sing a stirring paean to the war heroes of the Rohirrim, which did little to lift my spirits. 

Nobody had mentioned Arwen and Elrond, of course, but every heart amongst us must have bled for the pair. They had chosen to walk in the hills to say their last farewells, before he returned to Rivendell for the last time, and she accepted her mortal fate and the eternal loss of her beloved father. Meanwhile I would have wagered that Aragorn would be sitting desolate in his chambers, blaming himself for their grief.

In spite of the air of melancholy in the hall, none seemed anxious to retire, and most of the company apparently sought to drown their sorrows in the heavy brown ale of Rohan. I stretched my legs under the table and wondered how I might slip from the gathering, as I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable myself. 

The music stopped, and during the buzz of conversation that followed, Gimli suddenly rose to his feet, pushing his chair back with unnecessary noise. 

“Well, Master Elf, are you ready?” His voice boomed across the hall.

I am sure that my face appeared blank, as my mind certainly was.

“You promised me fair return and I will hold you to it!” he continued. “Though I must warn you that my prowess at the chess board is greatly enhanced after a good meal. Tonight I intend to have your king.”

In spite of the large ornamental chess set which graced the lobby to our chamber, the dwarf and I had played not a single game. I am, however, not entirely without wit, so I replied in kind, “You may have cause to regret your confidence yet, Master Dwarf. For my faculties are undimmed by the quantities of good ale which accompanied your meal. I accept your challenge!”

Amidst laughter from our friends, we left the hall together.

Once through the door, I glared at him. “What do you think..?” 

He placed a hand in the small of my back and practically pushed me along the corridor.

“I got you out of there without making it obvious, did I not?” he hissed.

“Making what obvious?” 

He stopped, and gazed at me with sympathy in his eyes, saying in a low voice, “Go to him, Legolas.”

“I am not sure that it would be wise,” I ventured after a pause.

He grunted, and set off again down the corridor towards the guest chambers. I had little option but to follow. 

Once inside our own door, he turned to me again and said, “Have you not seen how he is? If anyone can talk him out of his guilt, it is you.”

“It is no longer my place to do so, Gimli.” Even to my ears, my voice sounded unconvincing. “Let Arwen soothe his cares on her return.”

His snort of laughter was brief. “Have you become foolish as well as stubborn, Elf? She will walk all night in the hills with her father while he castigates himself alone in his room. Who knows what depths of self hatred he will rediscover?”

There was sense in the dwarf’s words. We had not spoken of it aloud, but we both knew that the damage done to Aragorn’s soul by the ring, if not permanent, would take much time to heal. He was strong enough to have confronted the wrath of Mordor without wavering, but faced with his own guilty heart his strength could well desert him.

“Has it occurred to you that mine may be the last face he wishes to see? Should we not speak to Mithrandir?” 

“Would he thank you for laying his troubles bare to the world? It is not for us to tell Gandalf what passed in Lórien. The lady could help him, I doubt not, but it seems to me that she is wrapped in her own grief tonight. I would go to him, but I have neither words nor spirit to match yours.”

“Do not underestimate yourself, my friend,” I told him. “It seems to me that you have an abundance of both.” 

In truth, my heart was aching with my desire to go to Aragorn, and Gimli’s words had given me the confirmation I needed. I clasped his arm briefly and smiled my thanks before I left the room.

Once I stood before Aragorn’s chambers, my resolve came close to failing me. More than four months had passed since our last night together, and in all that time I had not been alone with him. While we stayed in Gondor, I had spent as many days as I could in the forest, often riding out alone, or with Gimli and the twins, to seek my peace there. In Minas Tirith the dwarf had rarely left my side and his presence had both comforted me and ensured that awkward moments did not arise when we were in the company of the King. In the month since we had set out from the city as Theoden’s escort, there had been little opportunity for privacy of any sort. 

My love for him had diminished not at all, and the gulf between us could still fill me with despair, but I was learning to control my feelings. When the grief welled up in me, I would meditate a while with the song of the gulls in my heart, and allow the sea longing to wash away my more immediate yearnings; or I would seek out my friends, and let their affection go part way towards the healing of my wounds. I do not believe I could have stayed on my feet throughout the day of the wedding, had the love of those near to me not given me support.

My heart was beating fast as I knocked gently on his door. He did not respond immediately, so I knocked again, more loudly. A few seconds, the sound of weary footsteps, and the door opened.

Widened eyes in his drawn, pale face showed his surprise to see me standing there, then he frowned, and I thought for a moment that he would ask me to leave. I longed to reach to him with hands or spirit, but I had vowed to keep my distance, so I did neither. I simply smiled, and waited. 

At last his expression softened to one of sorrowful resignation and he held the door wide for me. I stepped inside and sat, as he indicated, on one of the couches in the outer chamber. He chose a chair close enough that we might speak softly, but safely beyond the reach of my arms. 

“Legolas,” he said quietly, and my heart leapt at the sound of my name on his lips. “Why did you come here?”

“You should not be alone this night, my lord,” I said, not wishing to speak of myself.

He managed a rueful smile as he said, “So my lady told me, ere she left. But I am surprised that you would wish to sit with me.”

“I will be honest with you; I would not have had the courage to come to you, but Gimli insisted that I do so.”

“Gimli.” He smiled again. “He is the truest of friends.” There was a pause, then to my astonishment he asked, “Are you aware of the strength of his feelings for you?”

Had anyone else asked this question I would have evaded it, but I could not be less than open with him.

“I am neither blind, nor witless, Aragorn. Fear not; I shall take good care of his heart.”

I had not asked for Gimli’s love, nor expected it. Indeed, who could have known that such affection would develop between an elf and a dwarf? I had long wondered, as no doubt he had too, what would have come of it if I were not already spirit-bound. As it was, I loved him like no other and our friendship was deep and true, but it could be nothing more. Dwarves are too like to elves in this respect; I would not have him bind himself to me when I was not free to match his commitment. 

Aragorn and I were silent for a while, as I ordered my thoughts and wondered how best to comfort him. He sat quite still, his eyes on me. Eventually I realised that if I did not speak I might wait all night for him to open the conversation, so I said, “I know your pain, Aragorn; you need hide nothing from me. It will help to speak of it.”

“What is there to say?” he asked, in a voice devoid of hope. “There is nothing that could lighten my heart tonight.”

“Perhaps you should try, nonetheless.”

At first it seemed he would not respond, but at last he turned his eyes from the intensity of the look between us and spoke. “It seems I am doomed to destroy those who are dearest to me. As we speak, two of the three I love most in this world are lost in grief, because of me. The third already suffers a heart broken by my hand.”

If I had not felt the enormity of his pain I might have smiled at his melodramatic words. Suddenly, I realised that what I had come to give him was not sympathy, but truth.

“Aragorn, can you not look at me?” I asked gently. He turned slowly and did so. This time I would not lose his gaze.

“Do you see before you a broken creature?” I asked him.

He did not reply. 

“You take too much upon yourself, I think. Perhaps the mantle of kingship weighs heavily; but you cannot assume responsibility for Arwen’s decision, or indeed mine. You are not speaking of helpless children! Each of us has chosen as we will, with knowledge and wisdom; and each must live with that choice. Can you doubt that we are strong enough?”

He laughed, a short, bitter sound. “The only one whose strength I doubt is myself.”

“Then lay down this burden of guilt, for it is not yours to bear. Arwen chose to accept her love for you, as did I, knowing full well where it would lead. I am sure that for her, as for me, it is better to love you and to face the inevitable loss, than to have denied her heart’s fulfilment. And Elrond grieves, yet he knows that the alternative would hold little comfort; for if she took ship with him it would be against the wishes of her spirit. If it helps you, remember too that our choices were not only made for love of you. All four of us are bound to our destinies and to the future happiness of Middle Earth.”

“I know all these things, Legolas, though perhaps you think me witless. Yet the knowledge does nothing to ease the pain in my heart.”

“Then it is time to look a little harder for your strength, my friend. The world is full of pain, as you well know; and you are not the only one to bear it. Life will go on, so we must all learn to continue in spite of it. What other options are there? A life of guilty self destruction? Of bitter regret?”

I knew I spoke of myself as much as him, and perhaps he did, too. 

“Have not elves been known to die of a broken heart?” he asked, turning his head away.

“Aye, they have. And perhaps I could do likewise if I let myself.” He looked at me then, with alarm written on his face. “But I will not; not now, nor when your time on this earth is ended. I will not let my heart know despair, not while the sun is in the sky and the trees flower in the forest. There is pain, yes, every hour of the day; but there is still much that is beautiful in the world.”

“You were always so strong,” he smiled at last. “And I should learn from you, once again. Yet at this moment I am finding it hard to see the way forward.”

“I know it.” I paused, and tried to still my nerves before I asked, “Will you let me help you?” 

He stared at me and I knew he understood what I was offering. 

“I am not sure. Might it not make matters worse?” he said, in a hesitant voice.

“I think not.” I breathed deeply, deciding it was time to tell him the whole of it. “It would help me, too. Aragorn, the time is fast approaching when we must truly part. Once we reach Fangorn, Gimli and I will not continue with the party, for we wish to journey a while in the woods together. I would take my leave from you knowing that your heart is well.”

He nodded slowly, and stood. I too got up from my seat; each of us took a step towards the other and waited, some two feet apart. Tentatively, I placed a hand on his arm, and felt our connection leap into life once more. I held back, for I had no wish to overwhelm him, or myself. 

Suddenly, he stepped backwards, breaking the contact between us. His expression was shocked.

“You have lain with another!” he said, incredulously. 

I cursed myself briefly for not realising that he would know it immediately, but kept my voice level.

“I sought comfort, that is all. It alters nothing.” 

“But I thought you could not...” his voice trailed off to silence.

“You thought my body would be untouched for eternity, as my heart felt only pain? Would the thought please you?” I could not keep some amusement from my voice.

“I do not... I am not sure, but I thought that elves, once bound, could not be with another.”

I sighed. “In these last few months I have come to question much that I was once taught. Perhaps it is because you are not bound to me... or maybe what is presented to us as fact is merely custom. I do not know. I may be judged for it one day, but what I have done, I have done. Does it anger you?”

He groaned, and looked at the floor. “No, it is not anger... Gods! Must I now feel remorse for my unwarranted jealousy, as well as all the rest?”

I placed a hand under his chin and raised his head to look him in the eye. “It may help you to know that of this crime, at least, I am as guilty as you.”

It was enough; he closed the distance between us and came into my arms at last.

I do not know how long we stood there, each holding the other tightly. My eyes were closed as I rested my head on his shoulder and concentrated only on him. I felt all of his anguish and fear and guilt, but beneath it I heard the bright, vital song of his mortal spirit. I called to it softly, with gentle words of love, laughter and hope. My own spirit surged with joy at the feel of him in my arms, and for a while my pain left me. I sang then, a song of the earth and the beauty of the world, though to this day I do not know if I sang aloud. Even the call of the sea was nowhere in my heart in that moment, as our souls joined and my knowledge of him was complete once more. 

Finally one of us, though I could not say which, broke the embrace; and we each stood back, touching only through the gentle clasp of hands. 

The burning love in his eyes was unmistakeable and mirrored, I am sure, by my own. Perhaps he had been right and it had made matters worse, but I could not regret it. 

“Oh, Legolas. You know that I will always love you. More than I...”

“Shush; you do not need to say it.” I longed to silence him with a kiss, but knew that I could not.

“She knows,” he said simply, in a voice heavy with sadness.

“Of course.” I smiled at him. “Yet still she has made her choice. I could feel remorse for it too, but I will not, for I would change nothing that has happened between us. Do not endanger your marriage with guilt over what is done, and what cannot be undone. Live your life, and find happiness where you may, for her sake as well as yours.”

********************

I sat at his bedside, his hand in mine, until I was sure that he slept soundly. 

We had talked a little of our shared past and of our plans for the future, but in truth the words were unnecessary. As the hour grew late I realised that I had needed this night as much as he had; and it occurred to me that Gimli had probably known it too. 

I had searched Aragorn’s face for any sign of the darkness, but found only weariness there. Still I stayed at his side, fearing the shadow’s return as sleep approached. But as I watched him lying peacefully in his dreams, a small smile on his lips, I knew that his heart was indeed well.

I bent to kiss his forehead softly. 

“Goodnight, my love.” I whispered. “It seems your soul is healed.”

I crept into the darkness of our chamber with utmost stealth, but found that Gimli was awake and waiting for me.

“Is he well?” he asked, as I stretched out on my bed.

“Aye, he is.” 

“And you?” the warm concern in his voice brought a tear to my eye.

“I am well. I must thank you, Gimli, for showing me what it was right to do.” I paused, wondering if I should say what was in my heart. It seemed necessary, somehow, to be honest on this night. 

“Gimli?”

“Yes, Elf?”

“You know that you will always have my love.”

There was a long silence, but at last he spoke, very softly. “And you will always have mine.”

I smiled.

“And Elf?”

“Yes, Dwarf?”

“When they ask us tomorrow, tell them I took your king.”

I laughed, and bade him goodnight, before emptying my mind to prepare for sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

Gimli arrived today, rather sooner than I had expected. My people had told him where to find me and he had apparently hurried straight to the river, for he was still shouldering his heavy pack and clutching a stout walking stick. 

My eye was drawn to him as he emerged from the trees at the top of the high bank, for his white cloak and the silver-streaked red of his beard and hair stood out clearly against the greying landscape. My heart leapt in my chest to see him, and I ran up the slope calling a greeting, then dropped to one knee for our embrace, delighting in the solid warmth of him.

He put down his pack with a sigh and sat on the grass beside me. We spoke for a while of his journey, until a young elf, in response to my gestured request, brought us a tray of fruit, bread and meats. I did not ask Gimli if he was hungry; in my experience the question is generally unnecessary in the company of dwarves.

He delved in his pack and produced a battered flask, which I eyed warily, for dwarvish liquor is not to be taken lightly, particularly in the heat of the afternoon sun. He grinned at my expression.

“Fear not, master Elf; there is little left. But what there is I have saved for this occasion.” 

With that, he poured a little dark red liquid into each of the water goblets on the tray, and lifted one to me. As our glasses touched, he said simply, “To the future.” 

I smiled. “The future, my friend.”

We ate in comfortable silence until the tray was cleared. As he found his pipe and filled it I turned to him.

“I had not thought to see you for a month yet, Master Dwarf.”

“Aye, I had thought the same.” He paused to blow three perfect smoke rings. “But once I had spoken to my kinfolk of what I intended to do, I found I had little heart to stay in Helm’s Deep.”

“Was it very difficult?” I asked, knowing only too well what he had been through.

“I think it fair to say that not one of them understands my choice. They do not believe the way to the West is truly open to me, and cannot comprehend why I would wish to take it in any case. It was a bitter parting.” The sorrow in his voice underlined his words.

“Do you regret it?” I asked softly. “Or doubt that the way is open?”

He gazed at me, his eyes frank and trusting. 

“I could not regret it, though these days have been hard. I have little time left in this world, whatever I should choose to do. So I would stay at your side and look upon the Lady Galadriel one last time; and as for doubt, if Lord Celeborn says I have the Lady’s blessing, that is enough for me.”

I pitied him, in spite of his determined words. My own farewells to my father and the folk of the Greenwood had been hard enough, but they at least understood why I was called to go.

Gimli seemed to sense my thoughts, as he so often does, these days. “Will he join you there, your father?” he asked gently.

“I suppose one day he will; but he loves this earth yet, with a powerful passion. He will stay in the Greenwood as long as he may.”

After a moment of quiet reflection he waved his arm towards the scene of activity below us. “It is a fine sight, Legolas. I did not know you had such talent in you.”

I laughed. “Some talents I may have, but I cannot claim this one as my own. It is the design of a master ship-builder of Dol Amroth, and he himself has directed most of the work.”

We had never discussed my sojourns in the coastal city, for I had no wish to upset him needlessly; but he had always known of them, I am sure. Even after Imrahil’s death I had continued to make the pilgrimage once every few years, in order to walk at the ocean’s edge and breathe the salt air. On my last visit it had been an easy task to find a skilled man to aid me in my endeavour.

I pointed out some of the vessel’s more impressive features as he watched me with kindly amusement. At last he said, “I can see you have not been idle, my friend. But how are you, in truth? I must admit that I have been anxious about you.”

I sighed, and my arms fell back to my sides. “I will be honest with you, Gimli. At first there were moments when I thought the pain might kill me. I could neither eat nor sleep, and even to draw breath seemed an unnecessary effort. But that was not the worst of it.”

He waited, silently.

“In the past I have always been able to lose my grief in the forest, for a time at least. But it seems that with Aragorn’s passing, my link to this earth is weakened; it does not fill me with strength as it once did. In truth, only one thing gave me reason to carry on in those first few months.”

“The sea,” he stated, simply. 

I nodded.

“The pain is more manageable now; its quality is different. How can I describe it? For more than a hundred years I was aware of him, every hour of every day. I yearned to be with him constantly, yet I could not go to him, and it hurt me. And now, suddenly, he is simply gone, and there is emptiness where the awareness used to be. It is a strange, dull ache, but painful though it is, I dread the thought that it is diminishing with time.”

He raised an eyebrow, and leaned a little towards me. Despite the fact that we had long been accustomed to sharing our hearts’ secrets, I found it near impossible to say the words.

“I am ashamed, Gimli. Ashamed that I feel relief.”

He placed a hand on my arm and cleared his throat, seemingly thinking through his words before speaking. “I had thought you wiser than that, Elf,” he said, but in a kindly tone. “You would feel guilt for allowing nature to take its course? Thought you to live in agony for all eternity? That would be a strange choice, indeed, and he would not have wished it upon you.”

“I know that, of course; but still I cannot accept it. If I lose the pain, what do I have left?”

“Legolas, losing the pain does not mean you love him any less. You will always have that; he will always be in your heart. Do your memories of him grow dim already? I doubt it.”

I had to stop and consider before I could reply to his question. The world has become so strange to me in the past few years, it is sometimes hard to distinguish one thought from another.

“I do not think so,” I said, slowly, “Yet I cannot be sure. There are times when the memories are so clear, I could reach out my hand to touch him. But there are days when the world itself grows dim, and all that is in it, and the sea fills my mind completely. It is then that I fear I am losing him.”

He smoothed his beard thoughtfully. “I cannot pretend that I know much about what happens in the West. Yet I do not believe that you will go there only to forget. Perhaps once your heart is healed of its longings, your mind will be clearer and your memories will give you some comfort. But it seems to me that it is largely beyond your control, in any case. What use is guilt in such circumstances? Allow your spirit some peace.”

I could not help but smile at his practical words. For a long while now, he has been the one to bring me back to earth from my mind’s wanderings. “Perhaps you are right, friend. Perhaps his passing has simply left my spirit free once more, and I must learn to cherish it again.”

His answering smile was almost mischievous. “If your spirit is free once more, could you not eventually love again?”

I looked at him through narrowed eyes; and he knew my thoughts. He laughed, a single shout of mirth. “Nay, Elf, I do not ask on my own account! It is many years since I felt such stirrings; this old body of mine is long past such things. I simply hope that you will find some happiness, and that I may be there to see it.”

Now it was my raised eyebrow which spoke of mischief. “Do not be so sure, Dwarf. It is said that the very waters of Valinor have marvellous powers of rejuvenation. Who knows what delights may await you there?”

It will never cease to astonish me, the ease with which we can talk lightly of such matters, and laugh in the face of sadness. But when he spoke again, his voice was quiet and serious.

“Just know that while I live, I will help you to keep the memories of Aragorn fresh in your heart. You will always have my ear when you wish to talk of him.”

I knew he spoke the truth, and that I would hold him to his promise. One day I would be ready to tell him how the story ended.

********************

It was Arwen who had summoned me to the palace, her message so unexpected that I knew something was amiss, long before I reached the city. 

At first sight he looked little changed since my last visit, some months before; his body visibly aged, though not yet infirm, his eyes still bright and lively. Yet as I crossed the great hall to take his hand and bow before him I sensed his great weariness, and knew at once that my fears were confirmed. 

There was little time for more than formal greetings before he retired to a side chamber with his counsellors, to deal with some matter of state. It was then that the queen appeared at my elbow and asked me to walk a while in the gardens with her.

We sat in the shadow of the white tree, and as so often in Arwen’s company, I found myself searching for words. Since first we met she had only treated me with grace and courtesy, and I felt naught but admiration for her. Yet the wall of formality between us had never been breached; I had often thought that it was easier for both of us that way. Of what had passed between Aragorn and myself, not a word had been said.

Now she turned to me, and spoke from her heart. “The time is coming.”

I nodded, afraid to speak for fear that my voice would fail me.

“I will ride out with Eldarion this afternoon. There is much I would tell him before... before the mantle falls on his shoulders; we shall seek some tranquillity in the forest.”

My eyes widened, but I said nothing, hardly daring to think what she might be telling me.

“Be with Aragorn tonight, Legolas,” she said, and I thought my heart might stop.  
“All this time you have kept your distance, at what cost to yourself I can only guess. I cannot thank you for your kindness and tact, for I would not condescend to you so. But it is over now, and there is no harm that can be done, and I would have him meet his end at peace with his spirit.”

I gazed at her speechlessly, marvelling at her composure.

“We have known joy, but he has missed you so, and still grieves for the harm he has done you,” she said, in a voice drenched with sorrow.

********************

I did not know what to think, as I stole through the strangely quiet corridors to the king’s private rooms. It was not that we had not talked in those last hundred years; my visits to the palace had been regular, and he loved to ride out to Ithilien to spend time with my people there. At first we had avoided being alone together, but after some twenty years and the birth of their children, Arwen herself had encouraged our friendship. So we would walk or ride together, or spend long evenings over a chess board, but a distance there was between us always. For my part I knew too well that as soon as I allowed myself to come closer, the full force of my love would be released once more; and I did not trust myself to control it. Perhaps a wiser being than I would have stayed away altogether, but I had not the heart to do so. I would take whatever crumbs of his company I might, sooner than starve myself completely.

He was waiting for me, of course, with a light in his eyes that stirred my soul, although I felt oddly unsure in his presence. It was not long, however, before he had put me at my ease, with a glass of fine wine and the warmth of his voice. At first we sought safe topics, and talked of Gondor and Ithilien, of Arnor and the Greenwood, of our friends gone before him, and of the children he would leave behind. 

It felt as if one hundred years of friendship was ours to enjoy that night. As we fell to reminiscence, we laughed much and shed more than a few tears, but as the hour grew late and the city fell silent, we came to the end of our words. So we sat, unmoving, and carried on the conversation with our eyes.

His eyes had not changed, except perhaps to grow more wise. They burned still with the honest passion of a strong man in his prime. It was his face that betrayed his age; his skin was pale and lined, his hair entirely grey. As I looked on him I realised that to me such change was as nothing; he was as beautiful as he had ever been.

I had never doubted that his love for me remained strong, although I had long ago vowed not to touch his spirit to feel it for myself. But as I looked into the depths of those grey eyes I saw the full truth, that his passion had not dimmed; and that he loved me now no less than on that last night when I had found bliss in his arms. 

At last he spoke. “Legolas, it is ending now, and there is no more time for regrets. Would you let me hold you tonight, and tell you all that I have not said for over a hundred years?”

I bowed my head in assent, suddenly unable to speak.

He stood slowly and straightened with difficulty. I controlled my impulse to jump up and help him, but sat still and waited for him to move. He took my hand, and the shock was immediate. Frail his bones may have been, and his skin dry and delicate, but the pulse of his life was as strong as ever and his love surged through me. I stood, and let him lead me into the bedchamber.

We did not make love that night, though not for lack of desire. 

We lay on the bed in a loose embrace and talked at last of intimate things; he told me much, as he had promised, although little I did not already know. After a while we removed our clothes and the embrace tightened; in spite of the changes in his body, I felt that I had come home. We kissed for a long time, and it was sweet and gentle, though full of many years of wanting. I knew I was holding back, although I was not sure why; he knew it too.

“Please, my love,” he whispered finally, “Let me feel you.” 

So I closed my eyes and kissed him again, this time without reservation. The years fell away and pain was not even a memory, as we gave ourselves completely to the moment. All the sorrow, all the guilt, all the anguish fled our hearts, and we knew once more the healing joy of absolute union. 

Afterwards, he asked me to sing.

“I am an elf,” I told him, as my heart filled with sweet nostalgia. “I do not need to be asked twice.” He smiled at the memory, then shut his eyes and relaxed in my arms as I sang for the last time the strange and haunting song of our love.

We lay together until dawn, talking softly, or gazing silently into each other’s eyes. I knew that he was weary, but he would not sleep.

“I do not need so many hours of it these days,” he said, “and I would not waste a moment of this night.”

When the first sounds of the waking world came to our ears I rose from the bed and pulled on my clothes. As I bent to kiss him he grasped my hand and stared at me. I felt his question, before he even said the words.

“Will you stay in the city a few days, my love?” 

“I will be at your side, as I have promised.” I could not say more, for I did not wish to speak of my sorrow.

********************

I was there at the very end, although the songs do not tell of it. None saw me enter the House of Kings, the cloak of Lórien pulled low over my face, as none saw me leave when it was over. But I was there, and when Arwen called softly to me I entered the chamber and sat at his left side, his queen at his right.

It seems that at the last his heart had found peace, and the guilt that had plagued him for so long had vanished. For when all that we had to say was said, he took my hand and hers together in his.

“I am the luckiest of all men,” he said very quietly, “to have been twice blessed with such love.”

His eyes closed, and his spirit left this world.

For a long while Arwen and I sat still and silent, united in our grief. Then, at least, each was glad of the other.

She is gone now, her mortal body at rest, they say, in the grey, empty woods of Lórien. I admit that there are days when I envy her tragic fate; but a different ending has been written for me, and the sea will not let me forget it. She may have joined him in whatever afterlife is granted to mortal men, but mine is the task of keeping his memory alive on this earth. There are days when I envy her, but I cannot say that I would have chosen differently, had the choice been mine to make.

********************

I glanced at the sun and realised with a shock that we had been sitting there for some considerable time. Gimli seemed unconcerned; no doubt he was lost in remembrances of his own. But when I shifted slightly on the grass he turned at once to me, and his smile was warm. I knew that he would wait as long as it took for me to share my story with him.

A lone thought lingered in my mind, so I put it to my friend. “Would it have made a better tale, do you think, if I had died for love of him?”

The question may have been foolish, but he did not laugh, for I am sure he understood the remnants of guilt and pain behind my words.

“No.” His voice was firm and emphatic. “No, it would not, Legolas. The elf he loved was ever strong and joyful; it was that, more than your beauty, that drew him to you. He knew that he could love you without limit and yet trust you to carry on. If you had been the type to die of it, it would have been a different tale altogether.”

I could not hold back my tears then, but through them I saw the love in his face; and drying my eyes, I smiled.

“Thank you, my friend.” I said, and he knew I spoke not only of his kind words.

A sudden burst of laughter reached us from the elves at the bottom of the slope, breaking the afternoon’s melancholy spell. I shook my head to clear my thoughts, then leapt to my feet.

“Come, Gimli! It is time to look more closely at their work.”

I took the dwarf’s hand to help him up and let it rest in mine. We turned our backs to the forest, and together we walked down to the boat.


End file.
